Fatal Magnetism
by Emriel
Summary: It started with a dip of a quill. With it, Harry condemned his kind to a fate worse than his. Even if it brings ruin, he cannot stay away.  LVHPTR
1. Prologue

**Author's note:** After reading magentasouth's stories found in aff, I felt compelled to write something. There are five chapters written, but it needs some more polishing before I continue to post. I have not abandoned my other stories and I'm hoping to update TPH before June.

Fatal Magnetism is a story that branches off from the Chamber of Secrets. **The story will involve underage non-consensual sex, torture and gore.** If you are squeamish about that, then this story is not right for you. The prologue is fairly clean, however.

_(5/2/11) Lots of thanks to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out my em-dash abuse. More thanks to JT for agreeing to beta-read this chapter_._ While there might be leftover grammar or spelling errors, I hope that they are not as obvious as before. Enjoy reading._

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><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Prologue**

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><p><em>Harry Potter thought that he was not lonely.<em>

In a class full of people who can laugh and live without complication, he was horribly out of place. They had no idea what it was like to be in his shoes – _not that they'll ever be in his shoes._ (How many people will survive an Avada Kedavra and vanquish a Dark Lord as a baby?)

_He was not lonely._

The child in him had long yearned for a companion to share his misery with, and it was fortunate to find more of his kind, yet they will never understand his _misery_. It will not be wise to burst the bubble that their savior was a pathetic wizard who can't even protect himself from muggles. If word got out, he would not only be celebrated as a "savior", he'd have people pitying him for being a _poor abused orphan._

Here he was idolized. His coming was that of a messiah. He was on a pedestal; the pedestal was high enough that a fall would break his neck.

Once or twice he asked for help. He wondered why _no one_ could see him as a _child_. He was robbed of _normalcy_, but he could deal with that. The problem was, a role was being forced upon him. People wanted the dark lord gone and whoever did it deserved praise and so he got it. He was a miracle even when his defeat of the Dark Lord was a fluke. In the end, the people of wizarding world named him the savior out of convenience. His eleven-year-old mind did not understand that concept when he first entered the world of magic. His twelve-year-old mind still thought it was ridiculous.

So he had no choice but to accept his _savior_ status. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong and the more he pretended, the more it became natural for him to let go and adapt. He adapted to the image the public wanted for him and thus he became epitome Gryffindor, Dumbledore's pet, and the boy-who-lived. He continued to fulfill the role because it gave him purpose. In his mind he thought, somehow he was useful and somehow everyone loved him for he was the chosen one. How could they be so blind? And so fickle?

Barely even able to think then, he saved them from the big bad wizard and was hailed a savior. He was famous for the fact that his parents died to protect him, and the wizarding world showed its gratitude by depositing him to his muggle family who abused him. If it was that easy to remove him from wizarding world when he was a child, then why can't the wizarding world forget about him? He did not want the spotlight.

His friends were clueless of his inner dilemma.

So what if he could talk to snakes. He was tired of being cast aside and judged. He wanted to give up. This was not the life he wished for. If it was possible to just disappear and live somewhere where there were no responsibilities, he will. As he was now, however, he can't.

Harry Potter was not lonely. Harry forced himself to believe that.

But he was alone now, and being alone brought all sorts of thoughts to the forefront of his mind. It was as if an endless amount of black tar kept oozing to the surface and it clouded anything and everything, even his common sense.

The feeling of emptiness always managed to consume him, and he was slowly being consumed by it.

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><p>In the middle of the Gryffindor common room, he was writing on a diary. It was a diary covered with black leather, enchanted to write back.<p>

He writes because there is none who wanted to grant him their company. Harry knew that there was something odd about a seemingly alive person within the worn pages of the book, but he could not help himself. He needed to confide to someone and he needed to write in order to do that.

So he wrote of things that he shouldn't have written. He told a story of cupboards, of loneliness, of hate, of rejection, and of fear.

And dreams. And what is happening now.

_The headmaster refused, Tom._

_He said that he would talk to me soon though._

_Now was not the right time._

_He said..._

_No one wants to tell me anything..._

_Maybe you know, Tom?_

The diary absorbed the words, and a perfectly loopy "_**I**_" appeared. It was followed by words that intrigued the young child.

…_**have shown you what I know.**_

_**Tell me Harry, why**_

_**are you so eager to learn?**_

_**Your handwriting... is choppy.**_

_**It informs me if your mood.**_

_**You are not alright...**_

_**Tell me why.**_

Harry took a deep breath and sighed. He wondered if spilling his secrets to the diary would help, but perhaps it would. His ink made a blot on the page and it spread and is absorbed by the paper like a sponge that never ever gets wet.

_They hate me._

There was a big pause as Harry wondered if he should continue... but the thought of writing _it_ on paper, and having the words discovered through a spell. If someone were to use the words he'd written and show to all how utterly _spiteful_ their savior is of the wizarding world...

_I can't tell you why but_

_they hate me for something that they don't_

_even understand. I'm tired._

_Maybe tomorrow, I will write again._

The diary was quick to respond.

_**I am always here...**_

_**That is.**_

_**If you want me to.**_

_**Sleep well, Harry.**_

Harry nodded, feeling sleepy all of a sudden.

_Thank you_

Harry hauled his tired self off the desk and got into his pajamas. He burrowed under the covers and whispered for the drapes around his bed to close. The dark surrounded him and he fell asleep with the diary under his pillow.

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><p>Harry was sore the next morning and told Ron that he was feeling sick.<p>

"You sure, mate? Snape will be furious."

Harry mouthed with a grin. "Let him be."

Ron whined, "but Harry, the house points!"

Harry chuckled then, and buried his head on the pillow wondering why it smelt different, almost like... A pinch to his face brought him back to Ron who was a little bit ticked off.

"I'll make sure to visit Madam Pomfrey and get a pass so don't worry. We won't lose points and Snape can't fault me for getting sick. Um. Tell Hermione to lend me her notes later and... I just need more sleep."

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><p>While Harry was resting, the whole school was in an uproar. Another child had been petrified. A wall was painted red with a message that chilled their bones.<p>

At dinner, Ron cried out in misery. Hermione whispered meaningless words in an attempt to soothe the boy.

Harry was transfixed by the black swirling on his plate. Ron noticed that. Ron wondered why his friend was not attempting to console him. _Why was Harry ignoring him?_

There was another reflection on the black soup of his plate. Harry acknowledged that Ron was angry again. Ron would blame him, and for awhile, ignore him, and after some time would pass, make up with him. They'd be best buddies again.

Right?

Had it always been that way? He felt like any moment now, he would wake up from a dream – and perhaps it was his nightmare. The perpetual idiocy of the events that surrounded his epic life. He did not ask for this.

He did not want to see the eyes that stared back at him in silent accusation.

He could not meet Ron's gaze when he wanted to deny him that call for help.

He was utterly helpless and he could only watch. Why did they think he should help when they also thought that he was the perpetrator?

There was a whole slew of whys that followed.

* * *

><p>And drama.<p>

"YOU KNOW SOMETHING!"

Hermione tried to pull Ron back. The red-head promptly shot a curse to Harry and Harry doubled to the ground. Hermione slapped Ron and proceeded to shake him back to his senses. "Ron, stop. Can't you see Harry's tired? Just... let it go. Ron–"

Ron pushed her aside and stormed off to deal with his rage. Hermione's eyes widened when she looked at Harry, "Oh God, Harry," she knelt to the fallen boy and was at loss at what to do, "you're bleeding.

Hermione offered a hand but Harry ignored it. Hermione looked at Ron's retreating back and Harry's injured state. She backed away and left.

Harry remained on the floor of one of those unused corridors. He was trying to think but his thoughts weren't going anywhere.

His cheek stung and when Harry reached out to touch it, it felt wet. It was warm, metallic, and red. It dribbled down and left red lines on his face. There was disbelief on Harry's face while he covered his cheek with his left hand.

He should get up...

He blacked out.

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><p>Harry woke up and found himself in the infirmary. The matron barely allowed him to leave, and he had to lie through his teeth to get out. Tonight he said, he was supposed to be meeting the headmaster. It sparked an idea inside of him. What if he made the claim true?<p>

Perhaps it was a last call for help.

He found himself in front of the rotating staircase trying to guess passwords and when he got in, he was disappointed to see no one.

Come midnight, he traversed through the castle like a mindless ghost. Even the thrill that usually accompanied the nightly mischief was lost in him. He was waiting for something special that might wake him up from a niggling fear.

Desolation.

Harry admitted to himself that he just wanted to connect to people. He felt sad that the only thing left to him was his owl and the diary.

Harry gave in to the urge and set for his quarters. He needed Tom.

* * *

><p><em>I just don't get it anymore...<em>

_They call me the boy who lived._

_But... I'm nothing._

_If the wizarding world really wanted me..._

_they shouldn't have left me to suffer_

_my muggle relatives..._

Harry huddled near the glass window and the leaves flew by swirling, as if dancing to his mood.

**Splintering.**

His quill dipped in ink and he watched as the words wrote itself for him.

And ink began to stain his hands.

**Broken.**

_If they truly did care._

_They will not judge me for what I am..._

_I can speak to snakes..._

_so what?_

_Does that make me a dark wizard?_

_They kept staring at me once for this scar on my forehead._

_They worship me and now they cast me aside._

_Because I'm evil..._

_Now I'm hailed as the next dark lord._

_Am I evil?_

_I want to hide... Tom. I didn't ask for this._

_It's not fair._

_I wanted friends... but no one understands._

_I only want to be accepted... to live a normal life..._

_away..._

Harry wiped the tears off, and his hand trembled.

_I want to di-_

Words appeared before he could finish the sentence.

_**No you do not, Harry.**_

_**Believe me you don't...**_

_**Breathe.**_

_**And know that I am not lying when I tell you-**_

_**They will get what they deserve.**_

_**And there will come a time that...**_

_**you will not hurt anymore.**_

Harry trembled. When the diary knew that there was no helping the child in his depression, it did what it was supposed to do.

Harry was engulfed in a blinding white light.

Someone was rubbing his back. Harry felt helpless in his misery and allowed arms to wrap around him. It wasn't as warm as a real body should feel but Harry felt it all the same.

"_Just let it out. You will feel better."_

Harry failed to register that it was murmured in parseltongue. Had he cared to notice, he would have known then... The child might have saved the world from a terrible fate. Yet Harry was so distraught that all that mattered was the _warmth_. Tom Riddle possessively held the child against him and waited for a confirmation of his hunch. The boy felt so right in his arms, it was a wonder why his older self could not feel it.

"_I'm_ s_o... tired Tom... thank you. And... I'm sorry... I don't know... why... it hurts... can't stop... crying."_

The dark lord was delighted to hear the serpentine tongue from the boy's mouth and he kissed the child's forehead.

"_Sleep, my little Harry."_


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **Thank you to all who read and reviewed the prologue. The pace will slow down eventually on the next chapter. I am not promising regular updates but I will try. This chapter was revised and edited _by me_ so there might be a few grammar, typos and such. I made a few alterations but no major changes. There are a few timeline adjustments and I'll make sure to mention it on chapter 4. Enjoy reading and don't forget to leave a review~

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><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 1**

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><p>It was becoming difficult to sleep on his own. He tried to use sleeping potions but it could not be used in a prolonged amount of time because his body might grow dependent on it. His other alternative was the diary. <em>His <em>diary.

Years ago, if someone were to tell him that he would need a talking diary to sleep, he would have shot the idea down because it was too funny, random, and preposterous.

It was the best solution. It was also more entertaining than having nightmares. Within the diary he had an added perk of staying awake while being technically asleep.

Inside the little golden world, he was safe and protected.

He was warm.

It was all that mattered.

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><p>There was a low murmur in the air. On the staff table, the headmaster's seat remained empty. Hagrid was in Azkaban. The rest of the professors were worried and they could not hide it from the students.<p>

Snape looked upon Harry with calculating eyes and Harry had gone so used to it that he did not bother to glare back. At some point Minerva McGonagall stood up from her seat and attempted to reassure the students and the staff as well, that they were doing their very best to capture the culprit of the numerous petrifications and that they would locate the missing girl. It was only a matter of time, she said.

_Among other things._

The Malfoy heir was gloating to his loyal band of followers that in due time, the mudbloods would all end up getting what they deserve. He told them that Dumbledore will get sacked, and that his father would make it a point to do everything in his power to put the senile old man back to where he belonged.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to disagree or bother to prove the Malfoy heir wrong. For one, he wondered why he should actually bother. Arguing with someone who can't listen to reason would be a waste of his time. At this point though, if he were to have the usual argument about Dumbledore, mudbloods, and Hagrid, it would be a moot point because he was slowly questioning why he had to defend them.

His thoughts on Hagrid were divided. Was it possible that Hagrid truly harnessed the power to open the chamber of secrets? Then why should Hagrid do it again?

It made no sense that Hagrid wanted to kill mudbloods… perhaps his pet did. The thought that the spiders were killing once more seemed to be a little weird since they have not for years and why should it start now… were they capable of petrifying? There are potions that might cause that, but to his knowledge, spiders don't. Unless Acromantulas had help, they could not have caused the petrifications. He was confused.

Hagrid said that he should follow the spiders (if he wanted to know the truth) but what kind of advice was that? The spiders will not say anything after-all. If anything, when he was idiotic enough to follow the man's advice, all that it did was lead him into the forbidden forest.

Hagrid would not willingly harm him, or would he? Harry bit his lower lip. He supposed he was getting too paranoid.

After another hefty warning from Snape, and detention the past month, he did not bother to try again. It would not do to get himself involved in this when everybody refused to help. But…

"Harry... we have to do something."

Harry smiled and removed Hermione's hand on his shoulder. Gently.

As the golden trio, were they expected to miraculously save the day again? He refused to do anything at this point. He wondered if the adults are utterly useless on their own that they would resort to allowing mere twelve year olds to do their work. Why? He stared past Hermione and saw his less than subtle housemates eavesdropping on the conversation. Harry knew that they were expecting a rather gallant "yes" from him.

After what all of them did, should he?

"Hermione, what can we do then?"

His smile was met with silence. A sudden deafening crack attracted more whispers and stares. The golden trio is no more. The bushy haired girl ran away, hurt.

Harry felt for his cheek and sure enough there was blood again. The slap reopened the healing wound. He was told by others to visit Madam Pomfrey... but for some reason, he won't.

He liked to keep this pain as a reminder of what he suffered, that they left him. Perhaps it was also his fault.

He is alone.

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><p>"Tom, do you agree with this saying... that there is no good or evil... that there is only power and those too weak to seek it?"<p>

Harry found himself abruptly pulled by the teen.

"Who told you that?"

His back hit the wall. There was a dangerous look in Tom's eyes. It flickered to red and Harry suddenly felt scared. Trapped. The eyes were aglow with something. A need. A want. The need to know.

"Tom... it hurts."

The teen snapped out of trance and the tightness on his eyes loosened. Harry attempted to move away, still afraid, but soon found himself encased in a familiar hug.

"Forgive me, Harry. I was surprised... at what you just said. It brought back a _few_ unwanted memories." Tom tried to convey his apology by resting his head atop the smaller boy's eternally messy hair.

Harry could not understand why he started to relax. He should be angry but he was not.

Tom brought them towards the sofa where he told the child to lay on his lap while he began.

"I do not want to hurt you. I am not like them..."

Harry shook his head and stopped Tom. "It's alright. I'm fine."

Tom laughed. It was warm and it was contagious. Harry smiled and he tilted his head to the side. His eyes fluttered close.

Harry thought he could fall asleep then. It got better when Tom combed fingers on his hair. An utterly hypnotic feeling.

"Let me tell you a story of a boy who once dreamed..."

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><p>Harry woke up with tears in his eyes. Tom had a horrible life. He knew the boy in the story was Tom, abandoned by a mother who died soon after he was born…<p>

When he could have been living with his muggle family, he was stuck in an orphanage who did not understand why he was different. It was worse for Tom because those around him didn't understand the nature of his _freakishness_. Harry experienced the same with his muggle relatives. They absolutely hated the thought of magic and he knew how it hurt.

Tom's father was alive and his father knew that he had a child but did not bother finding him.

Like him, Tom wanted love. He wanted a family. They both wanted a place to call _home._

He dreamed that one day his father would come and take him away from the godforsaken place. No one came. All those who bothered to request for adoption would – in the end – back down, because the matron believed he was cursed and she made sure everyone knew about it.

When Tom decided to fight back, no matter how it tore the child – _no older than five and he harbored a thick indignation at the world for being born that way_ – he became cruel and Harry felt miserable for him.

_There was more to the story. _It was the first time he saw Tom with so much anger.

He should be the one apologizing to Tom for reminding him of what it was like then. Now, even if he is an entity trapped in a diary, he was real. If someone hurt more, it was probably Tom. Tom wasn't aware of it however. The hurt was buried so deep that all that remained was this confident boy who managed to deceive everyone, even him.

At least he did not have to hurt like Tom did. However, unlike Tom, Harry did not have it in him to fight back. What a Gryffindor he was. Perhaps things would have been different if he was in Slytherin. But he shook his head. If he was in Slytherin, it would have been impossible to meet Tom.

It would be convenient if he could place the blame on someone else's shoulders. Yet, he also knew that if his train of thought continued, he will drown in what ifs.

Harry stopped his musings and tried to distract himself by taking a shower and preparing himself to face another day full with unashamed staring, whispering and unfounded animosity.

* * *

><p>Ron and Hermione avoided him like the rest.<p>

Harry caressed his cheek where the mark should have been. It was becoming a small tick that he could not stop.

Madam Pomfrey ended up cornering him in order to have the cut looked at. Some nosy students probably mentioned it to her and since he went to have it healed once, she found it odd that the cut refused to heal. She determined that it was his magic that was keeping the cut from healing properly, and told him to take a day off classes to relax and "_NOT DO ANYTHING!"_

And here he was, attending classes anyway. Transfiguration was an easy subject once he put his heart to it. Ron was missing at his side, and he was alone at the front row. It was no matter.

The class progressed the way it should be. Professor McGonagall refused to tell them anything about the Chamber of Secrets but assured them that they were doing something.

They studied the theory of changing inanimate objects to animate objects and vice versa. Obviously, it was trickier to render living objects into seemingly-non living ones. Hermione was more than happy when the professor mentioned human transfiguration and eagerly waited for a demonstration. When Hermione's hand turned into a paw, she was not as happy however. Harry was called once or twice to recite a passage. It was relatively uneventful and he heard to occasional whisper of his name but that was all the excitement for Transfiguration.

Harry was still perturbed and it showed when he kept on tracing his right cheek. It was showing again... the cut.

He caught Ron staring and Ron had the decency to look guilty but every time Harry brushed his cheek, Ron would bristle a little.

_You hurt me. Just like they did, Ron._

There was a sudden mirth in the knowledge that he was not the only coward in Gryffindor.

Blood.

He found himself staring at his fingers in shock. Why does it always bleed? He asked himself. Ron was out of earshot once class was deemed over. Maybe Ron was squeamish about blood... but it was _he_ who uttered the cutting curse. If it was magically stronger, it could have been very well his face that was bleeding now. Or maybe the cut would have gone deeper, permanently damaging him.

Killing him?

He wondered if Ron was overcome with so much anger then, could he have killed him?

Harry tried to stop his hand from twitching to wipe his cheek. He trembled.

He knew it unnerved others as much as it unnerved him. So he wiped his cheek. He willed it to stop bleeding and thankfully it did. He laughed inwardly when their eyes widened at size of the cut, and at the blood that coated his fingers. A swift charm took care of the mess.

Whispers.

"_They're not friends anymore."_

"_I saw Granger slap him."_

"_He deserves it."_

"_No he doesn't... I feel sorry for him. Poor Harry."_

"_No you don't. You just want to show him off to your friends once you get him to talk to you."_

"_Shh- __Hey stop talking, he's looking at us."_

Harry watched as others turned away when he stared back at them.

_Annoyance._

_**Why don't you scare them a little, Harry?**_

He did.

To his pure amazement, they all flinched or backed away when he hissed a small "Hello" to them.

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><p>Hermione Granger was the next to fall. In the infirmary, there are thirteen victims. Hermione Granger was holding a mirror. On her hand was a small note that lay forgotten because no one bothered to visit. Someone started a rumor that those who associated and sympathized with mudbloods and blood traitors would be targeted.<p>

Regret and guilt should bother him but it did not. Harry could not find a reason to feel sorry for Hermione. It was as if thinking about her brought only feelings of resentment and it could not compare to his _misery_. He could not worry about others when he did not know what to do with himself.

Harry was off in his own little world. He hears the whispers in the walls, and sometimes he talks back to it.

He wonders why it does not kill when it obviously wants to.

Harry does not know what to make of it. Others think he is losing his mind and Harry thinks that it might be the case when he suddenly stops walking and whispers in the air – trying to coax the voice to respond.

And when it does…

Harry finds himself afraid.

_But he does not remember._

* * *

><p>He never writes on the diary anymore. He just allows it to engulf him. It was slowly becoming his <em>home<em>.

When Harry Potter finally understood that it was better to live within the little golden room than face the hateful outside world, he wondered if it was possible to make it permanent. So he impulsively asked a small question.

"Tom... is it possible to live here with you, forever?"

It was as if everything stopped. The hearth was snuffed out of color. The gold began to chip away and fade. Tom came closer, his smile enigmatic. Everything faded to black.

"Why yes. I will grant you that wish."

* * *

><p>Nobody knew what happened down in the Chamber of Secrets. All they know of was that, the Weasley <em>scion<em> remained missing and it was a popular belief that she was rotting in the Chamber of Secrets. The Chamber of Secrets remained to be unseen, unknown and unproven, however.

What _was_ found was the half-naked comatose body of Harry Potter. It was sprawled on the floor of the Great Hall. The child's blood painted the floor where a dark mark lay. On the skin of the boy's back, a message was carved written:

_Your Savior is now broken._

_Who will You sacrifice to stop the dark?_

_It will return but this boy will never come back._

Dumbledore was swiftly sacked from Hogwarts and his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was revoked. Hagrid was put to death. Harry Potter was deemed alive but to the horror of many, the words on the boy's back has proven true. Try as they might, the sleeping child would not wake up. The wizarding world who shunned the savior, now grieves for him.

Shameless folk they were, to offer a day of mourning for a child that is not even dead. Only a family of red-heads remembered to mourn for the one that actually died. They knew she was dead since the ministry finally confirmed it. After months of searching for the body, Ginevra Weasley's body was never found.

Molly Weasley went missing soon after.

Others – random people were swiftly taken away. It was causing undue panic in the wizarding world. They named the occurrence "_The_ _Vanishing Act", _popularized by a muggleborn witch who likened it to how magicians of the muggle world liked to disappear and no one would be able to prove how it was exactly they came back.

Well, for one, the bodies always came back dead, a few months later. Where it went for months long remained a secret.

No one knew the reason why such things kept on happening except perhaps Severus Snape who applied for the cursed position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

In the midst of the chaos, Harry was asleep in a glass coffin within a glass crypt. It was located in the depths of Hogwarts and guarded by the foulest of creatures. Even if one of them tries to inhale the child's soul, it will find that it cannot for it is gone and locked away in a place that others never bothered to look at, not that they would ever know of it.

Before the cold room, those who bother to see the child must answer the trickiest riddles and survive the most gruesome traps. The wards are utterly menacing.

There are those who attempted to steal the child's body but many have died trying.

For once, the wizarding world is doing a great job in protecting its _savior_.

* * *

><p><em>Six months later.<em>

Albus Dumbledore was proclaimed a madman for his insistence that Lord Voldemort was back. Hogwarts was handled by Lucius Malfoy. The Ministry of Magic was still led by Cornelius Fudge and he remains supportive of the changes suggested by Malfoy and the pureblood circle. There was a mass Azkaban break-out that seemed to have occurred within the past year but since it was so skillfully done that not even the security knew about it, it was kept under wraps. Security was tighter. There was something in the air that signified a brewing storm and the masses felt it. Something was going to happen and it would affect every single witch and wizard in Britain.

In Hogwarts, Severus Snape declares himself a messenger of the dark. It was a few hours before midnight, and the Halloween ball was in full swing.

He shot a series of lights that put the spotlight on him and dimmed all others.

"Severus, you must be drunk... here let me help you-"

The man cackled and pushed away the concerned Pomfrey. He began his speech. Eyes alight. A mad glaze.

"The Dark Lord is alive, and it would do you well to submit to his rules. Everything will belong to my Lord as it should have been. Mudbloods and Blood traitors, leave Britain! This is your chance. To all who are loyal, Rejoice! For the Dark Lord will come again to save us from this slowly festering world."

All sorts of creatures came out from each corner of the room. The pumpkin lanterns hanging from the ceiling transformed into black robes with skull masks. The torches began to breathe fire. The masked ones incapacitated every single member of the staff and started to shoot sparks in their merry celebration of All Hallows Eve. Snape acts utterly deranged, uncharacteristically cackling and repeating _His_ message over and over again. The great hall is full of screams and terrified whimpering.

They all chorused, "The dark lord will rise again. Long live the dark and the New Order."

The Death Eaters soon disappeared and Snape was left standing on the staff table casting a mosmorde. The dark mark carries out to the ceiling of the Great Hall and it is accompanied by a lot of young screams.

"_Run now. Run now pretty little mudbloods! Run for your lives!"_

When the Ministry came to apprehend the Severus Snape, a few moments later, the body transformed and they found themselves faced with a cackling Bellatrix Black instead. She told them not to put her back in Azkaban or her lord would be very displeased for them trying to do so.

Severus Snape was nowhere to be found.

Many students have been sent home. In a matter of minutes, Dumbledore is once again hailed as a protector. The Ministry scoffed at the idea but Cornelius and his paranoid self tried to summon an army that would battle this _dark lord_ rubbish.

They were too late, however. After the Bellatrix Black was apprehended, the Ministry fell in a matter of seconds. The whole underground department collapsed due to a series of timed bombs and literally, the underground ministry is buried in a pile of rubble. Magic was not able to withstand the force of magically enhanced muggle bombs. A new government was established overnight.

On its crux was the newly resurrected Dark Lord. He was starting a bloody revolution and with his charm and grace, he managed to convince everyone that he is doing something "good".

Many were still afraid and many rebelled.

It was chaos.

* * *

><p><em>November 1, 1994<em>

"It is this day henceforth, that we will commemorate the inauguration of the New Order! This will lead us to a prosperous golden age. The New Order aims to bring back what we have lost within the countless centuries of suppression of our magic and rightful practices. We will show muggles that we are superior. We will have no need to hide. Wizarding Britain will not remain a laughing stock of the Magical Community. With our Lord, we shall triumph over every empire and be a force that will stand above all. Bow down before our mighty leader."

The dark lord stood. His form shrouded in darkness and his eyes red with suppressed malice. Thousands of wizards line before him. They are silent as the dark lord's voice carried out to the gathering.

"Today, seven-hundred of you have agreed to pledge yourself to my cause and my cause alone. Whom do you serve?"

There was a unanimous vow.

"Lord Voldemort"

* * *

><p>The takeover was swift, and the glass encasement that housed Harry Potter was taken from Hogwarts as an offering to the Dark Lord.<p>

"With a kiss, you shall wake up, but not yet... not yet."

If one were to visit the dark lord's most well guarded chambers, they would find the dark lord staring at the body within the glass coffin for hours. No one could explain the fixation of their lord to the soulless husk that was Harry Potter.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** This is where the story slows down a bit and where the story rating shifts to M. Make sure you've read the warnings on the prologue. I will not post them again.

_(5/5/11) I'm finally done revising this chapter _"\(*-*)/"_. Enjoy._

* * *

><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 2**

* * *

><p><em>How does it feel like to be locked within the diary?<em>

_How can you deal with the loneliness, Harry?_

_Do you feel betrayed?_

_You wanted this, however…_

The dark lord smiled as the words remained where they were. It was a small disappointment.

Nevertheless, the child should be able to feel the words as he wrote them. He would not see them for the diary does not have eyes, but it should allow the child to feel and understand that someone is _writing_ in him. The dark lord remembered how _naked_ it felt to have words written unto his very being.

It felt as if someone was touching an intimate part of him and it was very disquieting at first. He wondered how his Harry was coping up. The diary remained unresponsive but there were signs that the boy was alive. Sometimes he could see bits of ink spilling out of the page but Harry was not able to write anything. Perhaps, if he bothered writing at all in the past two years and a half, Harry would have written back a little earlier than this.

Souls are very delicate things. It was not his intention to separate the boy's soul from his body but in the end, a small mistake on his part resulted in Harry's soul being trapped in the diary. There were unforeseen consequences. Perhaps a reason why Harry could not use the diary was that, his soul might have missed the vessel it was once tethered to. Another theory was that Harry's soul was probably ruined. He did not know.

So the diary remained a simple diary with no purpose except to house the sleeping soul of his horcrux, and for some time, the knowledge that his horcrux was safe was good enough.

Now, imagine his surprise when yesterday the diary began opening by itself. It seemed restless, skimming through empty pages and turning and turning, but then he did not touch it. Now however, his curiosity was back and he could not deny himself of it any longer. Now, he did not waste the opportunity to write on it.

The dark lord knew that it was unhealthy to think about his other horcrux and it was unhealthy to write on the diary for it might have changed it properties – although he knew such a thing was impossible because he was its creator.

He was not afraid, just wary.

Harry brought to him feelings and thoughts that distracted him and he did not want a distraction especially at a time when all his thoughts should revolve around his army and the reconstruction of Britain.

Years ago, when he decided to leave the Diary, Tom was flummoxed at the fact that Harry refused to wake up from the mediated sleep. He did try everything but Harry was gone. So he resolved not to waste time waiting for the child to wake. That being the case, he set out to find his errant soul piece and brought his other self the knowledge that Harry Potter was actually another one of their vessels.

With little resistance, he, the diary horcrux, merged with the older soul, Voldemort, and for a time he experienced opposing levels of thought. To make the point clearer, back then, the Voldemort in him wanted to kill Harry, and yet as Tom Riddle, he saw the child's potential. With Harry out of the picture, the decision was simple, they ignored the child.

The mere academic worth of having a live _human_ horcrux was **_difficult_** to ignore but they _did_.

It was convenient to forget the child's existence... or non-existence. Still, a part of him could not stay away. He was not able to stop himself from staring at the boy's _sleeping_ self. The preservation spell on Harry was magnificently done to the point that it repressed the child's growth and his physical form remained as a mere twelve year-old. Now it was different.

The dark lord knew that the child was better off dead to the world and of course, to him as well. The fact that there was a prophecy that hung over their heads was reason enough. It was a volatile topic that he usually did not acknowledge, but it is because of that connection, because of the fact that fate tied them together that he subconsciously knew he could not stay away.

So now, when Britain was still in such a chaotic state, and as such he could not afford to write on the diary, he still did.

At times, he almost wanted to throw the book away or burn it, just to see whether or not the boy was actually alive. He was wary of using the diary even when he knew that it was impossible to harm him when he was at the height of his power.

The feeling that he had right now was similar to how he first felt when he discovered he was capable of using magic. He was considerably ecstatic that Harry was not permanently disabled. Oh he had plans of waking the child up, but not this soon…

His words were neat and it formed elaborate loops with the inky tip of his quill. Its soft scratching was the only noise in his study.

_Harry... Do not ignore me._

Whoever thought prophecies were straightforward lacked imagination and logic. Of course, nothing could be that easy, especially when it came to fate.

He refused to believe that his fate was already shackled down and set to stone, not when the only thing blocking the way was a mere child who is already trapped within his cage.

To kill Harry Potter? It was something that he could not fathom doing at this point. Voldemort twisted the quill downwards, watching as lines appeared on the page. His eyes widened when his words were _finally _even if a bit sluggishly taken back in.

It was like playing with the flame of a candle. It was so tiny and insignificant that it could hardly harm him.

Tom could not help it, however. He desired to see what the child would feel, what he would think when he is confronted by the ugly truth… Perhaps, he wanted to see the child break. He had plans for the boy, and those plans could only be fulfilled if the child was awake.

It was ironic that once, it was a part of him that was trapped on the other side, and now it was the child who dwells within it.

An unknown feeling, perhaps fascination, made his eyes narrow when a familiar word appears.

**Tom?**

The Dark Lord's breath quickened and he wondered what took the child so long. He smirked as he began to write.

_Yes, Harry._

_I am surprised._

_Have you been sleeping all this time?_

_Is this why you did not bother_

_to write back to me?_

The Dark Lord waited anxiously for the words he wrote to vanish and for that familiar messy scrawl to reappear. His curiosity could barely manage to contain itself.

**I**

**I always thought I was dreaming.**

**It's... so dark here.**

**Where are you Tom?**

**You promised...**

The Dark Lord's quill moved furiously against the page.

_I promised, that is true_

_and yet, you did not wake._

_How am I to stay when there is no one_

_to stay for?_

.

_Since I could not fulfill my promise  
><em>

_when you refused to wake up..._

_and now a year or so has passed that–_

The words swiftly vanished and a panicked scribble came bleeding out of the page.

**A year!**

The dark lord smiled faintly, wondering what the child would look like if they were to face to face.

_Yes, sadly, it has been a year._

_You have slept so well, Harry._

_A lot of things have changed._

_The Dark Lord is back._

_You became a permanent fixture in his castle._

_He gloats that you sleep in the face of peril,_

_that you are his trophy,_

_That it was his doing…_

_He does not know you are alive_

_._

_It was your choice._

_You asked me._

_I cannot... I did not refuse you._

_It is simply_

_too much for a child_

_even if you are the boy-who-lived…_

The pages ruffled before he could write. It was if Harry was in turmoil. It stopped at a certain page.

**How can Voldemort come back?**

**Is there any way... to leave?**

**Am I still... in the diary?**

**I did not imagine... it would…**

**I... where are you Tom?**

**You are Tom, right?**

**Tell me this is not a joke.**

**Tell me it hasn't been a year...**

**Please?**

This was too much, the dark lord thought to himself. He could not help but laugh as his quill glided across the page. The dark lord wondered why he bothered to not _lie_ but omission is not _lying. _He wondered if Harry can sense it too, like he could once, 'the victim's heart'.

_I am not lying._

_What would I gain from lying, Harry?_

_It was not my intention to seal your soul_

_I tried, however I thought that this was more prudent._

_Keeping you within the diary kept you safe._

_As to your question_

_of whether or not you can leave_

_I think, for now it is safer if you remain–_

The words vanished.

In its place was a word with two letters that occupied the whole page.

.

**NO**

**.**

He stroked the page as if it were a pet. How he wished he could have the boy in his arms again.

...the thrill of honing that trusting child, his foolish Harry believing every word he said so that he could _taint _him then _break _him.

He inhaled deeply and expelled a long breath that came out as a hiss.

He forced himself to calm down.

The word "NO" remained. He turned a page and wrote.

_What good will it do for them to know_

_that you are alive and not dead?_

_The world, for one year, has looked upon you_

_sealed inside a glass crypt._

_A seemingly sleeping, soulless husk…_

_It will be better if you remain there._

_I cannot imagine what the dark lord will do_

_once he finds out you are alive..._

_So Harry, until we find an alternative way_

_of transferring your soul to a living vessel._

_Stay._

_That is... if you agree with me..._

_But_

_I promise to do everything in my power_

_to free you from my mistake_

_if you do not believe it is wise to remain there._

_._

_Know that I do this for your own good._

The page bled.

It was as if it wanted to erase everything and fill everything with inky black darkness – for the child was delivered a shocking truth after another and one wishes for ignorance that could not be attained.

_So this is how a diary cries_. It continued until it spread on his table and stained his hands. It took some time, and the ink seeped back to the pages and the Dark Lord's hands were dry again.

The words seemed as if it was written by a trembling hand.

**I don't understand this...**

**If you knew this would happen, why?**

**Why?**

**Tom...**

**You are cruel.**

The dark lord stared at the words and wondered if it was a good idea to have written back in the first place.

A part of him enjoyed the silent suffering he is causing the child.

Another part of him was vexed that it was not because he meant it.

He waited for more and almost closed the book when it appeared…

**But please**

Where is Harry's dignity now, when there is no other choice? He still thinks it is wise to trust him. How utterly vulnerable... and weak.

But this is how he wants the child.

**don't leave**

**me**

The dark lord's grin is all teeth as he wrote back...

_I won't, Harry._

* * *

><p><em>All Hallow's Eve… Year 1995<em>

It is the day that commemorates the Dark Lord's ascension into power. It was also that special day of the year where the dark lord's stronghold will be permanently covered by a dark cloud. This cloud was formed by several bodies in the sky. A few hundred deserters to the cause, rebels, prisoners of war, and muggle slaves float like balloons, suspended by magic.

Their screams rang across the expanse of the Dark Lord's castle grounds.

Each of them was tortured by their lack of modesty and impending sense of doom.

Meanwhile, on that very eve, the dark lord had assembled his loyal followers within the grounds. They knelt on the large white marble floor that faces the large castle balcony. It was from there that the dark lord was expected to greet them.

Reporters were prohibited to attend however any person with the dark mark should be able to see and hear what was to occur. All they had to do was place the tip of their wand against the dark mark and mutter a charm that would temporary render them immobile.

After an hour of waiting, after the last of the attendees had prostrated themselves on the floor, the Dark Lord finally appears. Behind him were three of his most trusted followers: Bellatrix Black, Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

At once, torches lit around the clearing. Some bodies are set afire. They became lanterns on the sky.

"My most faithful, isn't it a wonderful night? A year ago, I looked upon the same moon and pledged to myself that I will take Britain," the dark lord is very pleased as he continued, "and I now have Britain. I pledged to change it and now it has changed. Many have tried to oppose this change…"

The dark lord paused and no one dared to make a sound.

"…but my faithful, we have fought and conquered them. We are victorious!"

The gathered howled and screamed praises for their lord and master. There was a drumming sound that beat upon the air. Its crescendo fell in par with the Dark Lord's rising enthusiasm in his speech.

"Tonight, as a reward for your loyalty to me, I have decided to grant each of you a gift. Tonight, I will grant you death and revival! Tonight, each one of you will be reborn!"

The death eaters cheered. After a moment, the dark lord's voice rouse over the din and they slowly quieted as they listened to their Lord.

"I have prepared several sacrifices for this wonderful night! Dark Magic is strongest when the spirits dance and the dead mingle with the living."

"Silence!"

The excited mass quiets down but they are giddy when the dark lord closed his eyes and whispered into their minds through the dark mark.

"_**Can you not feel its call?"**_

The dark lord raised his hand and called upon him his magic and released it in waves. Several followers groaned and they fell to the floor in silent ecstasy.

"The magic upon us is almost impossible to harness but tonight we will and you will experience its _power_. Come midnight, we will all feast upon the fresh souls of our sacrifices and enrich the earth that is so hungry of it. We will bathe in the power that is rightfully ours and all these wretched fools that dared to resist our empire shall learn of what is _true _pain. Observe."

The dark lord plucked one that caught his eye out of the many suffering ones. It was a child with green eyes and messy black hair.

"What is your name, little one?"

The child shivered but was compelled to answer. "A-arietta... please let me go... p-please."

"Arietta, do not fret. This will not take long... then you will be free."

The girl nodded, and allowed him to manipulate her like a doll. Perhaps she was far too starved and disoriented to do anything but tremble and shiver. _Too trusting_. The naked teen was pushed against the balcony. Her breasts bob as they hanged like ripe oranges, while her stomach was flattened against the ledge of the balcony. Those gathered cheered, hungry for what will happen.

The dark lord took a ceremonial blade offered to him by a giddy Bellatrix and began carving the rune of eternity, destruction, and fire on the girl's naked back. She cried and screamed. She pleaded and wanted to Each rune glowed and seared against the girl's black until it slowly turned the surrounding skin black.

"There are those of us who have big dreams. I had one for myself and one too many. Yes, long ago, when I was a child and I looked at this world and said to myself, I wanted to change the world... I was told that I can't. I met laughter. I was ridiculed. Yet I knew something they did not. I was not deterred. I had a vision. See, the vision never left me until it came into fruition. And everything that I have desired, I have always taken. These people before you laughed at me once. They continued to oppose the ideals that I have brought forth with this empire. Now look at where they are. Who. Laughs. Now?"

The death eaters laughed. Bellatrix crooned and traced the shivering girl with a wand. She was pleading and from her lips there was red. She seemed to have bitten her tongue.

The laughter continued.

They were allowed their laughter until the dark lord raised his hand.

There was a sudden quiet.

The dark lord smiled and drew the length of the blade in a gentle motion against the girl's spine.

He drew near to the girl's face and grinned at the sight of tears and snot and fear.

"Had you not resisted, you would have made a fine addition to my ranks." The Dark Lord whispered in the girl's ears. The barely clad girl tried to pull away but she was weak, and utterly vulnerable. She cannot fight and so she continued to plead for mercy. The Dark Lord caressed her face.

"You will fill the barren lands with your magic. You will forever be a part of the mortal plane... unable to pass on. This will be your _freedom._ Little one, you will die at the strike of midnight and we will feast on your blood… Aren't you happy that you will become a part of magic? Your existence will be tethered to this world forever. Laugh with us and say you are happy for this _immortality_. Come on."

The child cried and Bellatrix shot of a tickling hex. "When my Lord orders you to laugh, you should laugh!" Arrieta laughed uncontrollably while tears streamed past her eyes. The Dark Lord brings down the Bellatrix's hand and the hex stops.

"That was not so bad, was it? I am a generous Lord, little one. Since you have pleased me, I will not only grant you one gift, I will grant you another. Do you wish for anything?"

The girl felt the runes tightening against her skin, and she nodded. With rasping breath, on will power alone, she forced her voice out. "My b-brother- please spare him."

A loud gong resounded all throughout the clearing and the dark lord made no indication that he heard the whispered plea.

The dark lord's ceremonial dagger pierced through the girl's spine, neatly cutting her open, and letting her blood fall to the ground. At the same time, several bodies that floated on the sky were torn in half.

Blood rains.

"Taste this ambrosia! This is the mark of our freedom! We shall feast on death! _Eternus Vita!_"

The resounding cheer was ominous and barbaric.

* * *

><p>Just beyond the gates of the castle, Hogwarts students have born witness to the chilling magic. Most pledged that one day they will one day be a participant of the Dead Magiks. It is a form of magic closely related to soul-magic that was thought to be lost for centuries. It was closely related to necromancy and was believed to be the root of such an obscure branch of magic.<p>

The ceremony continued until the sacrifices were bled dry.

It was a magnificent sight, especially when the light of exultant magic gathered on the sky and the earth to dance. The surging magic, the feeling of _rightness_ that followed when blood _rained_ was simply ecstasy to those sensitive to magic.

Yet there are those who felt that it was unneeded. Magic can replenish itself after all. To Hermione, it was like water. For each magic that they use, it is brought back to the earth. What the ceremony did was cram an already full bottle with more water or ice-cubes. Her analogy was that, it would take time for the souls to be turned into magic.

It was a deplorable sight for her and she considered it a severe mutilation of the laws of magic. A soul should be able to pass on to the plane of the dead, and to shred it, to remove it, or to destroy it... just for the benefit of others?

It is a crime graver than murder.

"Come on children. Stop staring and star moving The loyal ones must not be disturbed of this sacred rite. We are awake tonight to celebrate. The spirits are out and dark magic can make those who are unused to it, a little drunk. The amount of magic in the air is not healthy for you lot so come on, move. There is a feast waiting for us in the plaza." The black haired man said in a slightly mystified manner. It was the first time that they saw the normally collected man to be so caught in rapture.

Rodolphus Lestrange, ex-convict, now the head of the house of Slytherin, that scary man was losing his cool.

"Prefects, lead the way. I have business to attend to."

Hermione knew what kind of _business _it was. Rodolphus itched for a wand and someone to play with. He was going to join the _orgy_ in the courtyard.

Hermione thought to herself that it was lucky that muggleborns were not excluded from attending Hogwarts once the empire was established. However, she was doomed to live through prejudice against her not so noble blood.

Several laws have been passed. One of them was to remove all forms of magical beings from the hands of muggles and forced repatriation of all British wizards back to Britain.

In a span of a year, Britain became a veritable fortress of war hungry mongrels. With more than a thousand fanatics willing to die for the Dark Lord's cause, and many more being brainwashed, it was a force to be reckoned with.

War is always at its doorstep, and countless of people have died in their sympathy for those who are against the _true cause_.

Hermione was clever enough to adhere to the new laws without scuffle. Some of her muggleborn friends were not so lucky however.

At first, citizens had three options. If one was adverse to magic, then one will likely choose to become a muggle. Memories of all things related to magic might be replaced or removed. If the wizard or witch in question wasn't lucky, brain damage might occur and it is sometimes fatal. The other option was to live within the magical world under probation and eventually decide whether or not they will leave or accept the Dark Lord's rule. All muggles who know of the witch or wizard in question would be obliviated or have their memories altered if they choose this option. It is the same for the last option, quite obviously. The third option was to pledge allegiance under the New Order and ultimately, to Lord Voldemort, becoming a Death Eater.

Those who choose to pledge themselves are given special treatment. It was considered an honor to be invited at an early age and Hermione was one of the few who received such an honor, but she turned it down.

Two years ago, after she denounced her parents and they were obliviated, she was sent into a wizarding orphanage where noble wizarding families could _auction _her together with the other homeless children. Of course, the final say still belonged to her. It was the only thing in the system that actually seemed fair.

Hermione found herself being fought over by even the Blacks and Malfoys, but the idea that she would be part of the family that maltreated her for the mere fact that she was not a _pureblood _like them – was one of the reasons why she had to turn the offer down. She also could not bear the idea that she would be related to Draco Malfoy and his father.

Speaking of Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy currently holds the position of the Minister of Magic who is second to the King, although the Dark Lord was rarely referred to as _king_.

The past two years brought so many changes and it took some time to get used to. The indignation in her was beginning to reach a boiling point, however wonderful some of the changes were.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

"Neville... don't you agree that this society is twisted?"

They broke away from the group at her insistence and scurried towards a dark alley. Around them, the sounds of merriment filled the air, fireworks and raucous laughter.

"I can't stand this. Neville... you probably don't feel affected because the order caters to purebloods. But you know... you know how they treat us. Those who are taken from the orphanage are abused by their adoptive families. They are killing people just to use them as fertilizers, and not just killing! They're using their souls to... oh god... Listen. This has to stop. The extractions, the killings, the coming war, all this… It's just getting ridiculous."

Neville fidgeted and wondered if they were going to be expelled or imprisoned by this conversation. As if reading her friend's thoughts, Hermione smirked.

"How good are you in occlumency?"

Neville blinked.

"Gran taught me... I know how to block, but I'm not as-"

"Legilemens."

The thirteen year-old witch whispered the spell with no forewarning. Neville collapsed to the floor and heaved and puked right after.

"Adequate. Come on. They can't miss us. We... are going somewhere."

Hermione cast a quick scourgify and smiled, offering her hand.

Neville was bewildered. He was just mind-raped but first... he had to ask.

"Who are you?"

Hermione pulled Neville up, and cast a dillusionment charm on them. "Hermione Granger, silly."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>_Eternus Vita_ - Eternal Life.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's notes:** I am not a fan of OC characters but I occasionally use them. I am not as satisfied with this but I found some things necessary for the plot to progress. _(5/7/11) Finished revising. I'm going to look for a beta reader now._

* * *

><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 3**

* * *

><p>There was a popular suggestion of an old man – that he was "perpetually insane, with a prejudice against muggles and mudbloods, an unfathomable love for spilling blood and wreaking havoc."<p>

Dumbledore was the senile one, not him, for believing that he was actually making things better by manipulating people like chess pieces for the _greater good_.

It is a simple mindset that would lead several others to their deaths. He was different. Once there might have been a child in him that wanted to seek protection and acceptance but he discovered early on that he was different. To them, he would always be a _monster_. He embraced it as much as he embraced the fact that he would always be less than human. Now, he was a true immortal, and he would wield a power that would make Gods envious.

* * *

><p>Before him, there was a mass of black robed bodies, puddles of mud, blood, and chaos. His beloved Death Eaters. They sway to the ambiance of magic in the air. They cannot see it as clearly as he did for they do not know magic as he does, but they shiver at its touch and they can still saw the wisps of color that floated around them.<p>

Magic deserves to be loved. The Dark Lord thinks of it as a tool but at the same time, it is his invaluable partner. It is alive and a part of him, so it deserves to be fed, and cherished like what he and his followers would soon grow accustomed of doing.

Magic would reward them.

_Many_ would frown upon this display but it is this nature that wizards are continuously suppressing – the wild and unbridled nature that was part of their lives from the very moment they were born – that made wizards of today _weak._ The idiocy lies within the society.

A society is said to shape a person, and thus those within it learn to adapt and live upon the rules and the norms. It is unsurprising that some learn to deviate from the norm but most never do. Most are satisfied with the society and they are stuck in that certain "ground", where they are unable to push forward using their own will and their own _power_. They are contented with this _lack_ of perfection. It is even more pathetic when those who aren't satisfied remain shackled in the sad sorry state of _society_ because they think it is not their responsibility to change _it_ and can only complain.

Wizards have power. It is a power that his kind does not make full use of. With such a power, it is a question as to why the world is overrun by muggles and not them.

He had long accepted the fact that only a few were made as blessed as him and to boot, he found none as illuminated. So the system entitled him a prize and that was to mold everything to his liking. But now it is so much more.

He would see to it that his visions comes true. It is sad that patience was not his strong point, however. It was necessary to have it.

"Lucius, before you is the army of the New Order. One would think that they are mere children when they are already this drunk from a shallow greeting of magic. It is when they feel most powerful that they are vulnerable. Do you not agree Lucius?" The dark lord asked.

"I agree my Lord. They will be reeducated after this, but it is a refreshing sight to see them act like children_._"

The Dark Lord's almost imperceptible nod was seen by the Malfoy Lord's eyes.

Lucius was pleased and the Dark Lord knows just why. They were sharing a private joke.

A servant came to serve them both a glass of wine. The woman was shaking and yet she managed to smile even when her mouth was sewn tight with a thread and a needle. Severus Snape was silent at their side as he downed two glasses. The rest of the inner circle were engaged watching a mock duel between Rabastan and Barty Crouch Junior. The boys were starting to become more violent and those who watched gave them a wide berth.

A high pitched scream came from below and their eyes landed on an errant Bellatrix who seemed to have found a pretty little prey and was making the child call for help among the robed figures.

"Little girl, I give you ten seconds to run. If I find you, we will have fun but if you don't run, you see... we'll have more fun? Isn't this terribly exciting? Ahh, don't cry. I'll start counting!"

The Dark Lord smirked. Bellatrix was like a child with a sweet tooth who saw a candy shop.

Suddenly, there was a sound of thunderous cheering as some of the floating prisoners fell down from the sky like rag dolls to be feasted upon. The screams were pleasant. Voldemort thought that it was fitting way to die. If it were any other day, his death eaters would not want to touch the disgusting bunch of muggles, and yet now, they made them moan and scream as they tore unto their flesh, marking and claiming one after another.

Bellatrix seemed like an exception to mindless pleasures of the flesh. She was teaching the young ones the finer arts of extracting the best screams. Never mind that her practice doll was a 10 year-old child.

Magic is so mysterious, he thought. He always wondered how depraved human beings could be when there is nothing to inhibit them from fulfilling their darkest desires.

"Lucius, it is time to play."

Lucius took one last sip of the wine and when the Dark Lord stood up, Lucius followed.

"Severus, come. There is a matter of great importance."

* * *

><p>The throne room was silent. For once it was not filled with the faceless masks of Death Eaters swarming for the Dark Lord's attention. There was nothing but cold stone, glinting emerald and black marble. Around them the, torches were green and burning. It cast an eerie glow to the cavernous room.<p>

"Tonight, for your invaluable service, both of you will be rewarded. A small token of my appreciation," Voldemort said and he continued, "Perhaps, after you this, I will be assured of your loyalties."

The Dark Lord stopped behind the throne, and there was an inconspicuous looking wall with serpents all around it.

"There is passage, and beyond this lies the gift," Voldemort allowed a languid smirk to appear on his lips and went on saying, "It is true that there is more to this castle than you know of. I will show you a part of it, but first, smear the wall with your blood." One of the small metallic serpents that hung from the wall came alive and started hissing. Voldemort hissed back, and the serpent turned to stone.

When the walls were smeared with a small amount of blood, it began to move and rearrange itself to some sort of archway. It led them to a series of corridors and winding stairs. The smell of musk and earth hit their nostrils and Severus and Lucius understood that they were clearly underground. There were several doors, but they did not come to stop until they reached the bottom most, which was quite typical.

The Dark Lord instructed them to do the same as they did before the throne room. Once they smeared their blood, the door opened, and it closed behind abruptly once they entered. The room brought an ominous feeling. The torches lit up one by one. Their eyes widened imperceptibly. Lucius had a knowing look and stole a glance at their black haired companion who was growing visibly more _wary_. Severus wondered what could be so important to the Dark Lord that he even made a shrine for it and granted it so many protections.

Several stalactites hung from the ceiling and from below, there was only a vast black darkness formed by the water. Whatever dwelt within it was something he did not wish to see. Surprisingly, the black water was adorned with water lilies. At the center of the structure was a small shrine. Numerous runes surrounded it and the wards were menacing.

"Come."

No one else was alive to tell the tale of what the chambers underneath contained, but the Dark Lord was showing _trust_, thus Lucius and Severus felt equally pleased, although one more so than the other.

As they began to descend the last step of stairs, it became increasingly clear that the shrine was not in fact a simple shrine. It housed a body… a body that most thought was long lost.

The shrine was a circular slab of white. Four pillars supported the glass ceiling which was covered with dried vines. A pentagram on the floor doused with the Dark Lord's blood ensured that no one else could approach it without his presence and permission. On its center there was a glass coffin, and therein lies the secret.

"My Lord, is this?"

The Dark Lord laughed. "Shocked, Severus?"

"Is he, alive, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord smiled and he carelessly opened the case and pulled the child from within unto his arms. The Dark Lord held the limp body like a rag doll and beckoned with a hand.

"Touch him."

Lucius watches with interest as his friend unravels before them. Severus was almost hesitant as he brought his fingers to ghost over the boy's breath and the skin of his neck.

"There is a pulse… he is warm."

There is shock. Severus understood two things. _The soul is tethered to a body. Without it, a soul becomes fragmented and ultimately – is destroyed. For the body to remain as it was…_

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. He pulled the child away and with his magic, Harry was encased within his glass coffin once more.

"Severus, I am amused that you would not pause to consider why I would keep a corpse with me. Of course he is alive," the dark lord snarled.

"Forgive me, my Lord."

"I brought you here not to have you gawk at the child, but discern the truth from you. I also want you to know of your _foolishness._ You have sworn yourself to me once, and yet I find that you truly do not know for yourself what exactly does the oath entail," the dark lord paused, and wondered if Severus would flee or stay. He stared into the eyes of a follower that he once thought was so loyal and asked, "Who is your master?"

Severus knelt and brought his head down.

"My Lord, I only have one master, and he stands before me."

The dark lord circled Severus.

"Give me your wand."

Severus hands his Ebony wand and flinched when the Dark Lord snaps it in two.

"You are not just a traitor. You are also well practiced _liar. _Lucius is a witness of your betrayal."

The dark lord tapped his wand and calmed himself.

"Severus," the dark lord said and Severus thought his name sounded like a curse on the Dark lord's tongue. The Dark Lord started speaking once more in a sickly sweet voice, "I am disappointed that you will lie to my face and call me your _one and only_ master when you have done everything in your power to become a nuisance to me–" a hand dramatically folds onto the dark lord's chest, "–and this empire. Tell me, what exactly did you wish to accomplish by sending one Sirius Black a means to recover _Dumbledore_ from his capture? And why do you show your face to me after what you've done? Are you hoping that I would feign ignorance when I've been made aware of your crimes? That I would tolerate you for all your previous blunders? Do you seek mercy? Do you seek punishment?"

The gentleness belied what the Dark Lord truly felt. There was a long wait and Severus did not speak.

The dark lord hissed out several words in parseltongue. "_Si-ethh Hasha aeh sai esthe siii sathi!" You do not even defend yourself, fool!_

The dark lord is probably damning his name.

Lucius flicked out a wand and pointed it at the kneeling man. There was smugness in Lucius that could not be wiped off. He was proud that he had leverage over Severus. It was true that they are great friends however it is difficult to remain in good graces with the Dark Lord. Lucius would use any opportunity he could get.

Severus tried to activate a portkey but it was rendered useless.

The Dark Lord made the dark mark on the man's arm flare as punishment for the open defiance and Severus barely flinched. Normally, the potion master's self-control was desirable but this time, the Dark Lord wanted to splinter it. A bone-white wand tilted the man's chin upwards so he could meet the Dark Lord's unforgiving stare. The red bled through black.

"You try to escape me? No, that would do no good. You will remain here and face your punishment."

The Dark Lord forced Severus to remain kneeling on the floor with his will alone. Snape tried his hardest not to slump on the ground and kiss the Dark Lord's feet. The Dark Lord began musing to himself aloud.

"Severus… I cannot express how disappointed I am that it has come to this. You carry my mark, and yet you do not obey me. How have I lost you?"

Voldemort forced the traitor's head on the ground with his feet.

"Do you wish to tell me something before I give you the punishment for your betrayal?"

Severus remained silent. He knew there is no need to speak. The dark lord was simply playing with him. Perhaps he will die now... and yet, when he should feel panic, instead he is strangely resigned. He felt empty. Revenge has blinded him, and his inability to keep to his promises lead to vulnerability. He, once again, allowed himself to be used by Dumbledore. The old man used his guilt for the child's death.

His thoughts were of _self-pity_. Severus knew it was not healthy to wallow in such thoughts but he did.

Was it because of his own uselessness, that he was helpless to stop the deteriorating morals of his students as they continued to follow his Lord? That he felt inadequate because he was at loss and had no true desire except to _survive… _but kept wondering for _what?_ And in a small moment of weakness, was he not stupid when he placed his hopes on an ailing Man who sends people to their deaths and yet continued to preach of hope for the greater good?

And then, through all this, he could keep away from his _nature. _He was scared of _losing_ the tiny bit of sanity that kept him afloat. He did not want to be lost in the _dark,_ but…the sweet and almost sickening allure of the dark magic surrounded him, and the Dark Lord was all that. His mere stare could incapacitate anyone with his power, grace, and beauty. He was compelled to follow the man and yet he knew he shouldn't.

That before him, an endless abyss was glaring and it wanted to suck him in... so before it sucked him in, before he is lost in the darkness, he tried to break away.

"You have always been a careful man, but out of desperation, you are close to becoming a martyr. Severus, you are one of my most valuable Death Eaters and if you are to waste your life like this, I might as well give you your wish. Do you wish to die?"

The dark lord played with his wand.

"I do not need to look into your mind to see where the cogs are turning. Do you not know that you cannot hide your thoughts from me? Were you so confident of your occlumency that you forgot who it was you're dealing with? This anger… this resentment that you have for me… It is appalling that you felt so much for that mudblood that you have turned away from the dark. You turned away from what you are. Have I upset you that much when I killed her? Have you been more upset with me, when you found that I _killed_ this child too? Your love is a weakness… and yet…"

Glee feels the Dark Lord when he witnessed something very fascinating on Severus. Shame.

It was only when he was about to be killed that he felt _shame?_

The dark lord laughed. He does not stop for awhile when he found that he finally reduced Severus into such state. Lucius is quite concerned and muttered a small amused, "My Lord…"

"Torture him, Lucius. He does not deserve to be under my wand!"

"Crucio." Lucius watched as the man falls to the floor.

They waited until the screams are _heard_. Severus does not scream very well, the Dark Lord noted.

"It was a well kept secret. I have only told my most trusted that I kept this boy alive. All these years, Harry was under my care, and he still is. Am I not a merciful master? I considered you, when I was thinking about the prophecy and how it should be adamant that I kill this boy. His death will eventually mark your death... So I had everyone believe that I killed him, and yet no one could find the body. No one ever questions my word nowadays. So you believed that Harry is dead – and that there is no other Potter who you would owe the life debt to. It is a big irony. It was you who brought me the prophecy and we could say, you brought this suffering to yourself, yet you act like a child who does not want to face the consequences."

Severus tried to close his eyes but Lucius forced it open. "Listen to our Lord when he speaks. Do not ignore him."

"Lucius, it is quite alright. Even if he wants to blind himself from the truth, he will know of it." The Dark Lord turns around and he steps closer to the glass encasement. He traced the glass with a hand before he continued, "So I have successfully estranged you from the dark. It is not a nice thought but I simply wanted to know if my spy is still mine. I tested how long I can keep your loyalty to me under such conditions. You quite obviously, failed."

There was another impregnable silence. Severus was still under the cruciatus and his body twisted here and there. He gnashed his teeth together and kept his mouth shut but the screams still came out. Blood began to leak from his nose. He screamed a little louder. Lucius laughed. A symphony.

"Your trust in me is so little, Severus. And to think I have taken time to hone you into such a splendid specimen."

The dark lord crouched next to Severus and whispered his next words but in the din of the underground chamber and against his screams, it was still loud enough to haunt Severus.

"Harry Potter is alive, and I own his soul."

The voice was gleeful and the dark lord's eyes lit up manically. The dark lord blew against the potion master's exposed eyelids and Snape felt his throat constrict.

"Now I do not want to lose my potion master, for you are one of the best out there… so as much as I want to break you until you damn your own existence, I am offering you a deal. I bring Harry Potter back to life, fulfilling your life debt and in return, you bring me Dumbledore's head."

_And live forever under the Dark Lord's disfavor and be permanently disgraced?_

"I will leave you with Lucius to decide and you will tell me your answer tomorrow." The Dark Lord stands and took one last sweeping glance on Harry Potter. He gave the two a parting message. "Severus, you are to follow whatever it is that Lucius commands you to do, else, he will tell me of your disobedience and I will not be so lenient for that. I hope the next time we meet, I am not disappointed."

* * *

><p>Harry realized that time was quite different when he was awake in the diary. His thoughts were unobstructed for there was nothing to obstruct his thoughts with. There was a lack of ringing sound when he was confronted by the silence, and there is this familiar warmth that seemed to surround him. If Harry were to describe it, it was like being embraced by Tom. He felt <em>safe.<em>

Of course, the darkness got to him. He did not have a body... he was just a thing. A _thing_ in the nothingness. A thought. A being that can think. His thoughts were the only indication that he was alive. It was quite maddening. Also… the idea that he had to wait was beginning to drive him crazy. _Again._

Tom seemed to believe him when he _wrote back_ that he was _sleeping_ for a year. He lied though, but he thought that it was quite obvious that he lied about it and yet, it wasn't a thorough lie.

The truth was, upon waking up, he was disoriented. There was nothing but inky darkness. He thought that he was dreaming – for an eternity. At one point, he also started losing his mind. Harry hated being alone with his thoughts and it even got to the point that he started questioning his existence. When it got to that point, he stopped thinking. He was able to but he just stopped.

For there was nothing to think of that he hadn't thought of yet.

But that changed soon enough.

He thought that he could feel or hear a voice in his mind. Words appeared once or twice and he wanted to ignore it. He thought that it was his imagination playing tricks on him. It was scary how long he seemed to be dreaming, only to realize that it was not a dream after all.

But Tom did not need to know that.

He was not as naïve to think that Tom would try to help him given who he was and who they would be up against, if he were to be freed. To add to that, it is true that it was him who wished to stay inside the diary. Was he a coward? Possibly. But the lure of a world where he did not have to worry about _others_ beside himself was too strong. Tom seemed like he did not mind if he were to cater to his whims. Perhaps it was entirely too presumptuous of him to expect that Tom would actually hold his end of the deal.

_To stay with him forever._

Harry knew that he was different when it comes to his desire to help people. He would help unconditionally if he felt the urge to. He knew that people took advantage of this. At the same time, he knew that everyone else was self-serving before they even considered helping others. This is exactly why he could not afford to misbehave. He did not want his only companion to leave him because he was becoming impatient.

He trusted Tom yes, but then the trust wasn't enough to believe that Tom would actually want to get him out of the Diary unless he was prepared to offer something...

It is true that inside it, he was safe...

But did he really want to spend all his life in that inky black darkness – waiting for someone to write anything?

…

He wished that someone would write to him... Anyone. It could be anyone really. It should be anyone. If it was someone, it should be Tom but then, he was having mixed feelings with the said man. First of all, he was another, if not the entire, reason why he was miserable... and the man provided no other way of relieving the _boredom_.

_Hello?_

If Harry had eyes, he would blink.

_I was told to write on you. Tom is very busy right now and_

_he said that you would want some company._

_A talking diary wow... I wonder if it's true._

_How does it work?_

Harry wondered to himself as well.

**I don't really know.**

**I am – a real person by the way.**

**Don't call me a diary... and don't call me it.**

**As for why I'm here, it's all Tom's fault.**

**Or... don't tell him that. It's my fault.**

**So, Tom told you who I am?**

There was an inner glee at finally being able to talk to someone again. It did not _feel_ like Tom and he doubted that Tom would take time to pretend that he was a whole new person. He wondered who this person was.

_No. He did not say anything except your name._

_He called you James. And that it was prudent if..._

_I do not ask anything more but–_

He scratched the last sentence out and Harry was amused at the blunder.

_So what is it like, being inside a diary?_

Harry tried to find the words and ended up with one lame sounding one.

**Bored.**

**I am endlessly bored.**

Another question appeared.

_This is personal, I know but... I'm curious. How old are you?_

Harry wondered if it mattered. So he replied honestly.

**Twelve. And you're not very good**

**in following instructions are you?**

**What's your name and**

**how old are you?**

A trade. A small trade. Harry never thought there would come a time that the mere idea that he would know of another person's age would excite him. Perhaps being kept alone for a year made him easily excitable to any stimulant – especially for company.

_My name's Anthony._

_I'm fourteen_

_And I find following rules tedious._

_I believe all of us feel the same way._

_You're twelve. You should know_

_what I feel about rules._

He could feel amusement but it was not his own. They conversed about several things and the boy tried to glean information about him and it lacked subtly that it was a bit laughable to see Anthony try. He found the boy's interest in him a bit disturbing. Also he found that it was strangely easy to cajole Anthony into telling him things.

A harmless diary was a bit disarming. It would be alright to write down thoughts, no matter how private they are. The secrets spilled like pus and if it was pus, it oozed. It became glaringly obvious to him that Anthony was tactless, and Harry wondered if it was natural. Or did Tom instruct Anthony to be so honest to him that he would let down his guard.

Harry was a stranger to Anthony. Anthony was a stranger to him… perhaps Anthony did not believe he was a real person. Perhaps, Anthony was under the assumption that he was simply a work of an unparalleled feat of magic.

Harry made the mistake of being too privy and asked about Anthony's family and the war. Pretty much, the fourteen year old turned into an emotional wreck. Placating people was never his strong point but Anthony appreciated his lame efforts anyway.

Harry's thoughts came to an abrupt stop when he thought about his situation and he figured he should be more hysterical than Anthony… only he was not.

It would be easy, very easy for others to come to the conclusion that they could write whatever it is that they want to say and assume that Harry would not be hurt because there would be no physical pain...

Words. He could feel thoughts and he could use that as much as they could use words to get to him.

Again, he thought it was unfair. It really was different without a body. He wanted his body back so badly. And since he was so bored lately, it was a godsend to have someone converse with him. Harry would do anything to make the moment last.

He would have to learn how to choose the words he'd be using to write, _carefully_. It took some time to perfect the skill while conversing with the boy. He experimented with his thoughts. His thoughts were out in the open, but Harry figured out that if he willed it, he would be able to filter out what he wanted to come out and what he wanted to stay inside his mind.

There was a term for what he was doing that he was sure Hermione would know but it was a useful skill.

It was like turning off a water tap or perhaps imagining that he had a sheet of paper instead of the blank darkness and just his thoughts.

To imagine.

There was a flicker in the darkness.

_James, it's quite late and I suddenly feel tired._

_I'll talk to you tomorrow?_

Harry felt a niggling doubt. He wished for it pretty badly. _Color._

And it spilled forth like a stain, dyeing everything in golden hues.

He found himself on a bed, with another person embracing him, asleep. It felt like...

_James?_

_._

**Yes, tomorrow.**

**Thank you Anthony**

**for curing my boredom.**

He could feel the presence leave. Now Harry wondered what he should do with the other person... He seemed like... _Tom_ for a reason, but not him. His curiosity was palpable and it he was beyond ecstatic. Finally! But he couldn't move though. He tried to wriggle away.

"As much as I am pleased that you finally _woke _up, it does not entitle you to wake me. I am quite comfortable in using you as a pillow, so stop moving and behave. I will answer your questions later. Sleep with me."

* * *

><p>The child was trembling when the diary was returned to <em>him<em>. The dark lord observed Anthony and was pleased. This was his first use of the diary, and his greedy little horcrux ate so much of the boy's magic that Anthony could barely stand. It was expected. Harry did not know how to use the diary, or how to control the drain. He was like a newborn vampire. They tend to want too much blood and suck their victims dry the first time they feed.

Anthony... he looked remarkably like Harry. He wondered if he would feel like Harry as well.

"You will come again tomorrow. You will know when I call for you," the dark lord was about to say something but clicked his tongue, "Ah... is this anger I see?"

The dark lord bid the child to come closer and the child did so, reluctantly.

"Kneel."

The child knelt next to him. The dark lord placed his hand on the boy's hair and combed it once then began petting it, feeling the texture.

"Wizards are creatures that are lucky to be born in this world. We are given magic that defies the _logic_ of muggles and yet we discriminate it. Anthony, I do not kill for pleasure, I kill because I see a sick world and I want to cure it in my own way. Britain has changed for the better, has it not?"

Voldemort could see the shoulders sagging.

Britain. It turned into a fortress. Hogwarts undoubtedly became the best wizarding school in the world. Laws are strict and punishments harsher so crimes occurred very little. Rebellions have toned down and overall the nation was happy for the sudden prosperity under the New Order.

Anthony's lips tremble now. Was he going to cry?

He traced the sewn mouth in thought. It was Bellatrix who suggested that all their servants should dress up for the occasion. Perhaps, he should reward the boy. He removed the spell that had sewn the mouth shut and healed the bleeding lips with a mere thought using his fingers.

Anthony was surprised, and the teenager seemed thankful and awed. The Dark Lord knew that his beauty was disarming. His magic was alluring and his display of wandless magic seemed to draw attention to how big their difference was. Anthony is at the bottom of the food chain and he sits at the top. To be the full focus of his attention seems to dull most of his toys and make them quite easy to play with. It would not do well to have another child quite attached to him. Harry was enough.

He pushed the child away and Anthony tumbled to the floor. He stayed there, trying to catch his breath. Voldemort's thoughts shifted on Harry again and he praised the greedy child.

He then considered Anthony. He began, "If you are vexed that I kept you for this purpose, blame your sister. She begged me to spare you and so I did. You are dismissed. The servant outside this room will show you to your quarters."

The dark lord stroked the diary and wondered – he was quite tempted and so he did not deny himself. He wanted to know of the changes, if there were any, now that the diary has fed.

The diary glowed golden and soon enough the Dark Lord found himself engulfed in that _light._

He dove inside and found something peculiar. Instead of inky black darkness, there it was! The prefect's chambers…

Harry learned so fast. It was probably his instinct to adapt. Voldemort felt pride for after all, Harry belonged to him… so of course, he would feel _pride_ if the boy were to accomplish another astonishing feat. And there was another interesting development. His _soul_ seemed to have found a way to physically manifest itself and it was glaring at him.

It moved.

"You know very well why I am not amused. It took you awhile to come down here. I know that he is ours but it does not mean that you will play with him…" The other him wrinkled his nose before he continued "…like this. The child almost lost his mind."

The other him seemed comfortable with the child wrapped around him. Harry was fast asleep.

The dark lord took a seat on one of the chairs near the bed. He found it very surreal to be conversing with himself. How would he placate himself? It seemed like his continued silence was making his other self more irritated. And yet, he found himself annoyed that his soul would challenge his authority.

Voldemort began, "We do not deny ourselves of our desires. I desire to see him _break_ and would it not be exquisite if he does? His continued existence is a mere whim of mine." The dark lord added another thoughtless comment. "As is yours-"

He continued as if he did not notice the soul's ire.

"You are not in any position to suggest to me what to do with him," the other countered and laughed. "While you were stuck as a wraith, I was living inside this child like a parasite. Imagine. I watched him grow and it was an entirely cumbersome process."

Harry shuffled closer and the other him did not deny Harry of _contact_ before continuing, "I was unable to travel to where I wanted to, unlike you who had such freedom. It is the pain of making a horcrux. You render them, _us_ immobile and bored for an eternity until we are of use. For Harry to be abused by his muggle relatives and to see him be manipulated by Albus Dumbledore was even more appalling. I do not want to argue with you but I suggest that you think twice before doing as you please with him. I know that you are vengeful of our _mistake_, but it was _ours_ and not his mistake. You may _break _him if that is what you truly desire but you will spare him some mercy._"_

The soul leaned over the child and traced the face and stared at the lips. He began hissing in parseltongue, "_There is so much potential in Harry and I know you feel it too. This unnatural attraction."_

The dark lord found himself watching quite intently as his duplicate tilted the child's chin and leaned over to taste the Harry's lips. The child groaned and tried to move his head away but it was steadied and locked into place.

"Y_ou will not fool anyone when you say you won't feel anything when I claim him."_

There was another kiss. And a hand exploring. "_The longer you take to decide–"_ Harry murmured in his sleep and struggled against the possessive hold but the body who held him did not allow him to. _"…the longer I have him like this."_

A tongue flicked across a cheek. Harry whined in his sleep and called out a name, "Tom mhn."

.

"_Go back to your world, my Lord."_

He was forcefully thrown out of the diary and when the dark lord found himself sitting inside his study unable to understand what _just_ happened, the dark lord stilled.

His magic snaps.


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** I tried to keep this note short, but it's a bit long. Please read it, it's quite important. Most of you would not bother to read back and see what I changed so here goes. Please remember that Harry Potter was rendered comatose a few months before his second year in Hogwarts ended. Severus applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts' post since inadvertently, even though it is not mentioned, Gilderoy Lockhart under extenuating circumstances, left the post open. Disappearances began at this point. Year 1994, Halloween, Hogwarts was breached and a few hours later, the Ministry is bombarded to rubbles. The Dark Lord established his rule at this point. A year after takes us to the present, year 1995, not 1994, two and a half years after everything began.

A few other details have been added but they are not as important as the above changes. Another reminder is that…

Thomas, in this chapter, refers to the soul trapped in Harry. As a recap, the diary horcrux left the Diary and merged with Voldemort. Tom had every intention of fulfilling his promise to Harry, but the situation demanded he let Harry go. I think it's logical to assume that there would be consequences in putting Harry's soul inside the diary. Only Voldemort would have full control of its features and that means, only the soul within Harry would have full control over the diary, and Harry took time to adapt to it. Thus, for two and half years, Voldemort assumed Harry was sleeping when in fact, Harry was floating in a limbo with only his thoughts.

If I imagine what it would be like to be alone with my thoughts for two years, I'd say, I'll probably go insane. Before Harry was trapped in the diary, he was already afraid of loneliness and that fear multiplied to epic proportions when he was left in that darkness. This is why Harry is willing to talk to anyone, and why he was so willing to trust Thomas after his _betrayal _of the deal. Harry is wary, but he was so starved of companionship that the sight of Thomas was like a godsend to him. He won't always be so gullible and I guess independence is crucial if he'd ever survive the Dark Lord, but given the present scenario, he is more likely to act his age, a mere 12-year-old. It would come, but at a gradual pace. It wouldn't be realistic to suddenly make him a genius. At twelve, he is a big potential but he's not _genius_ enough to be considered the Dark Lord's equal.

I tried to revise this chapter and at the moment, I've done some outline revision for chapter 5. Expect the chapter to be up by May 15 or 16, 2011.

This chapter is dedicated to Niels, and an awesome distraction, BloodStainedFingers. Both of them cheered me on while I was writing, so here's the treat. Thanks for the reviews, alerts, favorites and c2s.

**Warnings: **Some of you might find this chapter disturbing. From here on, I will stop giving warnings. This will steadily grow darker.

* * *

><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 4**

* * *

><p>It felt empty.<p>

His golden hued world.

Harry realized that as much as he could manipulate the world to his liking, there was a limit to what he could do. The food was bland. The world was limited to colors of gold, black and white. The texture of things remained papery, and those he summoned to life, puppets, as Thomas called them, were not able to act without his conscious thought; they were dull and boring.

He could build worlds within the diary but they would always remain nothing more than an imitation. Seeing as he was stuck in that world for the time being, it would have to make do. Anything was better than blatant darkness.

His newly found friend told him that he was free to explore his properties, of course, if only to divert Harry's attention to other matters. Thomas helped him satisfy his curiosity about the strange piece of magic that currently housed both of their souls, if only to make him stop asking _questions. _

He did not understand how Thomas came to be, but he was quite thankful that he had another to share his prison with.

The only payment that Thomas asked was his companionship, and since Harry wanted the same, they agreed to help overcome boredom together. He also had Anthony and maybe Tom for that, but nothing beat a physical presence that was right next to him and that's Thomas.

There were a lot of questions wriggling in Harry's mind but Harry was patient. Being trapped in an eternity of darkness taught him patience. Harry was happy enough that _someone_ was willing to stay with him. That was that.

So for a long while, Thomas instructed him how to use his memories, thoughts and magic, to bring the world to life.

He learned, at a moderate pace. Now, they were having a small break.

"I have shown you a little of what the diary is capable of," Thomas said.

_A little. _"You call that a little?" Harry grumbled.

"But you are quite satisfied now, are you not Harry?" Thomas asked. Harry was amused that Thomas would gesture with his fork. He found it ridiculous that Thomas could still bring about a pompous grace when he was waving around his fork.

Thomas truly looked like Tom, he thought. He was like Tom. Just a little older... an almost indiscernible difference but it was still noticeable to him. His mannerisms were as refined and almost exactly like Tom's, and he used the same gentle tone to address him like Tom did. Harry thought, Thomas could pass for a replacement of Tom but not quite.

Although, Thomas seemed like someone he knew for a long time. He just didn't know why. He really itched to ask who Thomas was, and why is it that he was so similar to Tom but he could wait until he had the chance to.

They were dining together in what seemed to be, a garden of sorts. A lake spread out, and the sky was filled with no clouds. There was a lavish banquet around them, but there were only two to enjoy it.

"Satisfied? Am I?" Harry said aloud. A kitten butted its face on his lap, and Harry distractedly scratched behind its ears. It purred.

For this demonstration, Thomas did not bother to recreate faces and all around them were only blobs of black people, chatter that could hardly be understood, and the cheap imitation of the sun. But the kitten was a nice touch.

"No," Harry began. He took a napkin, wiped his lips and continued, "…not yet I mean."

"Then what will satisfy you, Harry?" the man quipped. Thomas gave him an amused glance, and Harry sighed at this.

"Freedom," Harry smiled and gestured with a hand to what was around them. A frown marred his face when he continued, "I also want color."

Thomas gave a small nod of agreement. Harry turned to him and said, "Do you really think Tom would get me out?"

Thomas smiled before saying, "Would you mind if I ask you a question before answering that?"

Harry played with the napkin and was about to toss the napkin to the side when Tom's hand stopped his. "You missed a spot," said Thomas, and he tilted Harry's chin upwards, smoothing the napkin against Harry's left cheek, passing across the child's lips. "Better."

The scene around them began to change. It filtered into black then white and finally gold. Soon enough, they were back inside the Head Boy's quarters. Harry laughed and headed for the hearth where there was an abundance of pillows. It was really strange to see everything without _color_ but he was starting to get used to it.

Out of convenience.

"I don't mind. Ask, Thomas." Harry rolled around and hugged the pillows. Thomas joined the excitable child on the floor. He leaned against the sofa and patted his lap. Harry automatically complied with to the wordless request. Soon enough, Harry was in a familiar position, his head on Thomas's lap, hair being stroked, eyes closed.

"Do you really want to leave this place?" Thomas asked.

Harry considered the question for awhile. The fire crackled. It was a question that he found himself pondering for a long while. Harry answered impulsively.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Harry thought about it.

"Not really."

The fire stopped burning and it seemed as if everything went still. Thomas narrowed his eyes and the fingers on his hair stopped its movement.

"You hesitate?" Thomas asked quietly.

"Yes I do. Who wouldn't? Out there... there's... there's Voldemort, Dumbledore. And those _traitors_."

Harry closed his eyes once again, when a hand covered it. Harry continued, "and Tom," the name was uttered like an afterthought.

"I never thought that there would come a day... that _you_ would acknowledge... your anger, Harry. Tell me, how long has this ire festered inside your heart that your eyes burn at the mere thought of _them?_"

"I don't..." Harry's eyes narrowed when a hand began caressing his cheek.

"Spare me your lies. Did Tom not teach you anything?"

Harry rolled away from Thomas. He was not able to stop the accusation from leaving his lips, "You are not Tom. _So don't pretend that you know._ You just _look_ like him. You even act like him. Who are you?"

* * *

><p>Lucius quickly grew bored of the Cruciatus. The Dark Lord permitted its use but to render the man insane was not one of their goals. They had to break Severus to get him to comply or at least convince him to do the task. So he rendered the man immobile, made him a pin cushion, stripped him naked, burned his calves, boiled his blood, and now, he was busy flagellating him. His torture was physical, for now, since being physical brought back a sense of <em>feeling<em> to Torture.

Using magic made torture impersonal and what Lucius wanted was for Snape to remember not his wand, but his hand. A few know of his preferences but Severus should be able to appreciate it.

"Pray tell me, my friend. Why did you commit such an act of treason?"

Severus hissed when the whip continued its merciless descent upon his back.

"It was no–" a grunt, "–act of treason," Severus said. His eyes were fettered upon the boy who he suffered for. The child was merely sleeping at the face of his punishment. Severus still thought that whatever he sacrificed – _his sorry life – _to free the _headmaster_, was little compared to what others would have sacrificed. He knew he was doing the right thing, perhaps for all the wrong reasons. It soothed his conscience that grew turbulent under Voldemort's rule.

Lucius would never understand.

"I find myself at an impasse. Here, before me is Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, an inner circle Death Eater, one of the Dark Lord's most trusted, his beloved spy, so _loyal_ to the cause. Yet, with all these distinctions, it did not stop him in becoming a turncoat. Found guilty of being nothing but a puppet of Dumbledore, he faces his punishment… and now he is tied like a lamb to slaughter," Lucius said. He began caressing his whip and while looking at it, he said quietly, "Severus, I don't know why you bring yourself this much suffering, when you can just accept the Dark Lord's bargain."

Severus kept his mouth shut and he received another lash for his insolence. It seemed like to keep silent, and to talk, both displeased the Malfoy Lord.

Lucius frowned, and pulled the potion master's hair back. A wand traced the hollow of his throat. Severus had a difficult time in breathing.

"I have worked hard to earn our Lord's graces in such a way that you and Bellatrix did not," Lucius remarked. He let go of Severus's hair and smeared his immaculate white glove with the red that decorated the man's back. He continued, "The two of you always remained his favorite. I understand why our Lord is fond of Bellatrix but as for your case... you did not want his attention, but he–" Lucius paused abruptly. He dragged his fingers across the whipped back. Lucius started picking at the torn bits of skin.

Severus scrunched his eyes shut. To keep his face impassive at the face of torture would be idiotic since it would only give Lucius more reason to torture him, _harder._

Lucius murmured against his back, words, that held no meaning now, "...he singled you out," he said, and from between his tirade, the whip met his back. "–from among us then…" Another hiss and Severus trembled. Lucius was blind to this.

"I," followed by another lash, "who walked in my father's footsteps," and a harder lash, "destined to be a part of his inner circle," a scream, "kept on wondering," Lucius said and gave an even harder stroke and the whip carried from the man's elbow to his lower buttock. Severus screamed hoarsely. Flecks of skin decorated the whip and the fresh line dribbled with red. Lucius removed his cloak and revealed his entirely pure white robe. There was a short respite before Lucius brought the whip down once more. Severus lay limp against his bonds.

"...what is it that made you so special? It was not your blood, certainly, and the Dark Lord could have any potion master he wanted."

A thick hiss in the air and the whip met the man's back and they were harsher than the last. The red was a sharp contrast against the potion master's normally pale skin. The blood was slowly forming a puddle on the floor. The white robe of Lucius was quickly being stained with the said blood.

"You have earned our Lord's favor,"

Whip.

"…enough that he rescued you,"

Whip.

"…from your hellish life!"

Severus groaned and got tired of hearing how he was such an ungrateful servant. But he wasn't anything more to the Dark Lord than a servant wasn't he? The whip landed and he knew that the crisscrossed marks would never fade quickly. A burn, a potion perhaps, would prevent that. If Lucius spared him some mercy, his back wouldn't scar. Severus sighed, already, he was thinking of giving up and agreeing to the Dark Lords demands of him.

"You were," Lucius continued and he did not care if Severus blocked him out. It pained him a little to have to do this to a friend but Severus needed to be taught a lesson.

"for a time," more welts appeared, "nurtured by his kindness, and it is a pity that our Lord," he dug the end of his whip and watched it collected blood that slowly seeped through his white gloves. "Our Lord did not see how rotten you were to the core. You betrayed his kindness."

Severus choked, when the whip dug painfully to his back. When Lucius relented, he let out a small laugh, "As if–" Severus cut himself off when suddenly he coughed out blood uncontrollably. He struggled to form words when his vision waned and he could only see blurs of color. "As if you would not."

"I would never dare–"

Severus cut him off, spitefully saying while his body trembled in pain, "I always thought you were a hypocrite, Lucius. This proves that. Was that hate for all things muggle, a lie, perhaps?"

Lucius snarled and muttered a charm that broke the man's arm. Severus swallowed his scream. Lucius tossed the whip aside and used his cane instead. It landed with a sharp crack against the unsuspecting cheek and broke skin. Droplets of blood landed on Lucius's face.

"How impudent. I have rid you of your claws and teeth, and yet you still bark like a dog. Remember Severus, you are a dead man. You think the Dark Lord would ever forgive you for what you've done?" Lucius asked, and the question hung in the air. They both knew the answer. Lucius tilted Severus's chin to face him once again. Lucius began slowly, as if explaining to a child, "Our Lord is not that forgetful nor is he that merciful. Once you have no further use, you would die." Lucius brought his cane down and Severus closed his eyes.

It did not land.

"The difference is in the amount of agony you would have to endure."

Severus did not want to think of what uses the Dark Lord required of him. He was tired of mixing poisons and making bodies vanish into thin air.

"You owe him your life more than you owe your life to that Potter brat."

Lucius tilted the man's limp head to the side with one hand. He stared into the dark depths of his _friend's_ pupil, wanting to discern what exactly the man was thinking.

"It does not matter," Severus groaned out.

"There are worse things than death." Lucius said gently, pouring a bottle that healed cuts. One by one, the welts, bruises, and cuts began to knit itself and disappear.

"I am aware of that." Severus gritted his teeth together. It stung.

"The Dark Lord would not grant you such a mercy… unless accept his _offer_. I wish you'd understand that unless you allow _this_ mercy to be given to you, Severus, you will be in perpetual pain. It would pain Draco to find that his favorite godfather is a traitor," Lucius's gaze hardened at the mention of his son. It was one of the reasons why he could not bear to accept the fact that Severus betrayed them. Severus was accepted into the fold of the Dark Lord and he had a _family_ there. In the light, he is regarded as a suspicious traitor. The choice should have been obvious.

To have proven his loyalty to the Dark Lord for his _invaluable_ help and to throw it away… like that.

The pain dulled as the welts and cuts began to vanish slowly. Severus brought his head down and muttered, "Better that than a sullied conscience."

The expression on Lucius's face was cold when he said, "Then I shall deliver you more... _pain._"

* * *

><p>He had several slaves who could satiate his desire and beg for his touch but in his mind, there seemed to be only one that might suit his taste.<p>

_The nerve of his younger self, to show to him what he was adamantly denying, for years..._ When his twin's lips touched Harry and Harry called out _his_ name, he was just about ready to pull the child out of the Diary and proceed to do to him things that shouldn't be done to a twelve-year-old.

It was a sad fact that he was lusting after a _twelve-year-old _and what was more displeasing was that it was Harry Potter. There was nothing special about the boy. Harry was an easily manipulated brat who unknowingly helped his resurrection after willingly trapping himself in the diary, and all he had to do was _pretend_ he wanted to comfort the child. So weak and vulnerable, he thought, and for those traits alone, he hated Harry, but his magic tingled to have the boy under him. He wanted Harry wanton, moaning his name and writhing very prettily on _his_ bed.

The Dark Lord tried to control his pulsing magic. His steps were fast and purposeful, his cloak billowing around him. His problem was partly his fault, for the ritual that they performed that _Halloween _provoked a hunger for the most primal desires.

Lust. Pain. Pleasure. Suffering.

As if he was not already drowning in it. The Dark Lord considered himself far above mortals who were ensnared by those desires but _He would not be denied._ Why should he stop himself from taking what he wants?

He ordered all the guards to leave the servant's chambers early on. The late afternoon sun peaked through the large windows that decked the hallway. A few turns and the last door on the left wing of the servant quarters laid his prize.

He entered the quaint room that housed the unsuspecting child. It was quaint indeed, decorated by only a dash of silver for the runes that kept his servants locked until they were needed. There was a rickety chair, a small dresser, a small wooden tub that could be used for bathing, and a small bed.

In that room, there were large windows emblazoned with the Dark Mark. It was formed by twisted steel and that alone.A breeze of the warm air came through, and it set the tied draperies flowing against it. It was transparent white. A second layer was tied to the side, and it was of a darker color.

The bed was covered by cotton white fabric, a course texture, but that is what servants deserved. This servant however, was above such things, Voldemort thought. He found himself wondering why he did not move the child to join his harem. Among all the pretty little boys he'd gathered, it was Anthony who looked like _Harry_ the most.

Anthony wore a thin white rag that barely did the child justice. The minx was splayed upon the bed, curled to the side slightly, one hand raised above him, and another across his chest. It was a picture of leisure. The sun's rays fell deliciously against the child's skin. His skin was slick with sweat from the warmth and denied of magic, the child could not do anything but suffer it as a muggle.

This _warmth_. Perhaps the warmth of the boy would soothe the raging fire that wanted to consume him. He was so terribly in need of that boy to satisfy the stirring in his loins.

"Anthony," he called out, and Anthony woke up, blinking his tired eyes. The child opened his mouth and closed it like a fish until he mustered the courage to ask, "M-my Lord, what are you doing–"

The Dark Lord willed the doors shut. The lock clicked in place and the sudden silence was ominous.

"Never question my intentions again. But I will forgive you this once... for now," the Dark Lord said. The silence was probably disquieting to the child, and without further ado, the Dark Lord ordered him to, "Strip."

The widening of the green orbs belied of the child's experience. Voldemort was amused and said, "I am waiting."

The child took his time to remove the tunic. "Is this–"

"Remove. Everything. Anthony."

Anthony's hands were shaking, probably never faced with such a situation in his life. He had no choice to comply. He was not afraid to be naked in front of other males. That was never an issue, but he knew that what was going to happen was different.

There was one last article of clothing and he refused to look at the Dark Lord while his hands fumbled to his side. An impatient hiss was heard and Anthony reluctantly untied the loin cloth that covered his modesty and put it on the side of his bed.

Anthony knew he bore a certain resemblance to _Harry_ _Potter_ and rumor has it that the Dark Lord had taken particular likings to male whores who looked like the _dead_ child.

They always died, after the Dark Lord tired of them.

"My Lord, I..."

Voldemort let his eyes wander. The draperies fell down and the room was plunged in shadows. "Will this make it more comfortable?"

Anthony was silent. The Dark Lord did not bother removing his clothes. He wanted to satiate his thirst, fast. A quick, rough fuck. A young child that looked so much like him and would spread his legs wide to welcome him. Right. There. It's good that Anthony didn't even bother struggling.

"...Please... don't kill me," Anthony pleaded.

Tears already. His sister was braver. The Dark Lord thought for a moment that if Harry would cry, he might actually come to enjoy the tears, but seeing the tears on Anthony's eyes only inspired sadism in him.

"You may kill yourself. That is what they all do."

Voldemort did not waste time to prepare Anthony and guided his stiff cock into the boy's tight ass. It swallowed his length, a warm passage that was a little too tight, and like the virgin that he was, Anthony bled. The silencing wards ensured that no one heard.

He thrust in and out, delighting at how the boy squealed like a pig initially. "No… please."

"Shut up."

One. Two. Three.

"It h-hurts… Take it out… please!"

For a while, all he could hear were grunts and moans of pain. The child cried, and he just slammed himself, hard enough, rubbing the child's insides raw. Eventually, the little screams turned into gasps of pleasure.

"No more, please... my L-lord."

"But you are a hungry whore. You cry out very prettily when I impale you," Voldemort pushed against the boy, ramming against him. Anthony indeed cried out, and his head tilted to the side, afraid to look at the face of the beautiful man who was nothing but. He wished he could grab onto anything but the Dark Lord had him hold his knees, to his chest.

"Like that. You _love it_ when you are _fucked_ raw."

"Ahh!"

"Beg me to fuck you harder."

Nothing came out. The dark lord hissed, sharply this time, "Beg. Or I will have my followers feast on your body and turn you into a right whore."

"H-harder, my Lord."

The Dark Lord quickened his pace, and the sound of slapping flesh and grunts and moaning filled the air. When the Dark Lord reached near his climax, Anthony found himself being strangled.

The already tight ass, tightened some more, and the Dark Lord filled the child with his seed.

He broke away, and Anthony curled onto himself. A pinkish white substance leaked out from the child.

"I will have you moved in my bed-chamber. The servants will come for you tonight."

* * *

><p>Hermione and Neville traveled far. It's been several hours and they were probably half-way across Britain, nearing the borders when they stopped. They entered one of the dilapidated house only to cram themselves inside what most would refer to as... a cupboard. A tiny. Cramped. Cupboard. Miles and miles. For a cupboard.<p>

Neville was slowly beginning to think it was the bad idea to come with Hermione. For some reason, he also had a bad feeling about being _found out_. If anyone found out that they've gone past Hogsmeade into the muggle world, surely... they'd be killed.

"Now, I want you to do as I say. Oh, Neville, it'll be alright. Just keep quiet. Shh."

"Hermione? Where are we?" the boy asked loudly. Hermione slapped a hand on her forehead. She then pointed to the floor. They both took a seat, and only a few inches separated them from touching. "Have you not heard of magic, Neville?"

"Why don't you just tell me–" A hand covered Neville's mouth.

Hermione's eyes widened. It seemed like the cupboard recognized that Hermione was not alone. "Neville, shh." She touched her lips and proceeded to show Neville how to zip it.

The sound of metal sliding across metal was heard. Hermione abruptly shoved Neville face down the floor. Two swinging blades passed overhead twice and it would have cleaved their heads had they not plastered themselves to the floor.

The floor was increasingly cramped with the two of them trying to fit on it. Hermione had an unpleasant time of pressing against Neville's chest and Neville tasted the dusty floor. When the swinging stopped and the blades disappeared, Hermione sat up and let out a long breath.

"Hermione, has anyone told you... that this might be illegal?" Neville said in a frightened voice. They heard creaking in the wood, and three knocks.

"Oh, this is definitely illegal. So anything you see after this room remains between the two of us. Else, it's off with your head," Hermione joked, her fingers making a slashing motion against her neck. Neville could only stare. Hermione was nuts, he thought.

A voice came from beyond the door that they came from.

"It meets a fiery end, and from the ashes, rises again."

Hermione stands up and dusts her dress. "A phoenix," Hermione began and knocked once, "until the end if there is an end."

"Eternity," a small pause, and another knock came before the voice said, "Until it sleeps and meets its maker."

"Death," Hermione said, and knocked as well. "And when it knocks against your doorstep?"

"We open it," the door opened, "like so."

"Sirius!" Hermione hugged the man ecstatically.

"Black?" Neville wondered aloud, and promptly fainted.

* * *

><p>"The truth might not be what you desire."<p>

Harry took one of the pillows and threw it at Thomas. It vanished before it had the chance to touch the man's face. Thomas smirked.

"Would I be asking for it if I don't want to know? I am tired, Thomas! Every single one of you tried to keep things from me and look at what happened." Harry couldn't stop his outburst. He began to run away, and Harry willed Thomas to disappear from him.

All he got was a sudden blinding light and a splintering sound as the world around them broke. Everything was gone and in place, there was nothing but white floor and in the middle of it, there was a child who was writing his name with a broken crayon on a piece of paper.

It wrote, "F – R – E – A – K".

"Stop it. Why are you showing this to me?"

"I want to show you, the truth."

The scene played out how he remembered it should play._ Dudley found him and grabbed the crayon, whining to his parents that Harry stole his crayon when in fact, Harry found it outside, on the lawn._

"_The nerve of that freak," Vernon muttered. "I'll deal with him. Where is he, Dudley?"_

_Dudley pointed to the bottom of the staircase._

"_The cupboard eh, hiding there. You think you could hide from me?"_

"Stop this."

Thomas embraced him from behind as he trembled at seeing the memory once again. "Your muggle relatives hated you, and pretended you didn't exist. Why do you not hate them?"

Harry struggled against the man but as he watched another blow land on his five-year old face, he began to lose fight. "You won't understand it."

"_I assure you, I know more than you think I do_."

Thomas left him, and in return, there was only a voice inside his head. Harry watched as another nightmare replaced what he was seeing. This continued until Harry curled himself into a ball.

_**You hate them. You hate them enough that you've often fantasized about ending their lives.**_

Harry opened his eyes to that wonderful night when Hagrid visited him to tell him he was a wizard. He was so over-joyed that he could barely see the real picture.

_**And if you were its celebrated savior, you would have been protected.**_

_**Albus Dumbledore was powerful enough to have you removed from your muggle relatives.**_

_**Yet, he even has more power and influence to keep you there.**_

_**Don't you find it odd that the wizarding world would allow its savior to suffer...?**_

"_You're a wizard Harry."_

_**...it was blind of your suffering.**_

"Stop it, Thomas. I don't know where you're getting at, but this doesn't change the fact that I'm stuck here. With you! Just... just let me be. Don't show all these things to me."

The world changed to reflect Albus Dumbledore and his first meeting of the grand-fatherly man. The visions showed the meetings that gently pushed him to the direction of being a _self-sacrificing _savior. Why would the headmaster turn a blind eye to their gallivanting around the protections of the Philosopher's stone, when he did not intend for it to happen?

_**They were aware.**_

_**Hagrid was aware.**_

_**They did nothing to stop it and sent you back again.**_

_**To them.**_

The faces of his muggle relatives flashed. The cupboard. The barred room. The cat flap. Dudley beating him.

_**And if that wasn't enough, when you most needed your beloved headmaster, where was he?**_

"_I'm afraid, my dear boy, that I have no time for this today. You see, we are doing everything to resolve these matters... I will call for you when I need you," Albus said, his half moon spectacles glinting against the light of the torches._

_It was so hard to come across the headmaster and when finally, Harry had him in front of him, he was denied._

"_But professor, I need your..." Albus had already moved away, and Harry did not want to chase after him. "...help."_

_**You gave your trust so easily.**_

"_...You're Harry Potter! The boy-who-lived!"_

The scene played out as well as Harry remembered. Ron was incredibly happy that Harry was in the same compartment as him. Then there came Hermione... "Stop it, Thomas."

But the trust was so easily lost when Ron...

_"YOU KNOW SOMETHING!"_

_Hermione tried to pull Ron back. The red-head promptly shot a curse to Harry and Harry doubled to the ground. Hermione slapped Ron and proceeded to shake him back to his senses. "Ron, stop. Can't you see Harry's tired? Just... let it go. Ron–""_

_Ron pushed her aside and stormed off to deal with his rage. Hermione's eyes widened when she looked at Harry, "Oh God, Harry," she knelt to the fallen boy and was at loss at what to do, "you're bleeding._

_Hermione offered a hand but Harry ignored it. Hermione looked at Ron's retreating back and Harry's injured state._

_**You gave that same trust to my younger self.**_

_Harry did not know what to do with the black journal. It seemed empty of writing. He wondered why anyone would leave it inside the girl's bathroom. The blankness beckoned to him, to write on it. And so, he did._

_**And you were not awake when he squandered it.**_

_The rest of Hogwarts was asleep. He took his invisibility cloak and slipped it on. No one was there to stop him when he hissed a command to the girl's dormitory._

_His wand glowed when he cast several charms that kept the rest of the girls sleeping. He eyed the one he wanted._

_Harry knelt to the side of a particular red-headed girl. He smoothed the covers and brought them down._

"_Ginny, wake up."_

_The Weasley girl woke up and as soon as she did, Harry muttered, "Imperio."_

_They left the confines of the Gryffindor wing and traversed the stairs that led to the girl's lavatory on the second floor._

_With a small hiss of, "Open," the sinks in the middle of the room began to rearrange itself. Ginny followed behind him._

_**Do you really want to know the truth, Harry?**_

Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to rip his eyes out and not _see. _He wanted to pierce his ears and not hear.

"Tom... betrayed me? All along... I thought... it was Hagrid..."

_**But you never gave it much thought, did you?**_

_**TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**_

Harry tried to close his eyes but the name burned in his mind. Thomas appeared right next to him, and wrapped him in his arms. Harry knew it was useless to struggle.

"_I will give you what you asked for."_ The serpentine hiss confirmed Harry's suspicions. He knew it before the words rearranged themselves to form his dreaded nightmare.

It spelled out simply, **I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.**

Harry froze. Thomas twirled a lock of Harry's hair. Harry bit his lip, and whispered a plea, "...leave me."

"Never."

"Leave me alone!" Harry snarled. Thomas laughed.

"That, Harry, I am not capable of doing. See, we are tied together, you and I."

"I'll kill you!" Harry threatened. Thomas pushed them both down on the bed and his hand clamped against Harry's throat, while he straddled the struggling boy. Thomas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth three times and said, "You can hardly do that, Harry."

"I can and I will!" Harry glared defiantly. Thomas laughed, tracing Harry's cheek and said, "Then prove it. Become a murderer like me. Embrace! …this _anger _of yours."

Harry was caught off-guard when lips touched his. Unable to breath, and too scared to make a move when the tongue finished exploring the rest of his mouth, Harry could only lay panting, dazed. Tom leaned forward, and his face was the only thing Harry could see. Tom began to whisper, "To answer a question that you have forgotten... _Voldemort," _Harry swallowed unconsciously at the name, and this action did not go unnoticed.

Thomas could not stop himself from licking the boy's throat, Harry gasped. Tom murmured the words against the child's collarbone, "...will let you out this prison, sooner than you think. And if you believe you know _pain, or suffering_... my other self, would make it a point to educate you, and_ break_ you. He would hardly care for what you think, and since you are so firmly in our grasp, I have no doubt that under his hands, you would _break_ indeed."

Thomas kissed him again, and this time, a hand trailed across Harry's knee, and it firmly kneaded Harry between his legs that Harry cried out in shame. "He will take everything from you, and make you desire him, as much as he does. As much as I do."

"Please... stop." Harry could feel the beginning of tears once again. He hated how it was so easy of him to cry. "No... no... stop ngh–" Thomas was merciless, and only stopped his ministrations when Harry stiffened. "So sensitive…"

Harry hated it.

"He will delight your tears. He would have you beg. You will scream and moan his name. He would seek to corrupt you. You would be a toy, and unless you want to end up as nothing but our toy, you'll be a very good boy and heed my advice."

Thomas kissed his forehead. "The first lesson is not to trust so much… look at where you are now. You woke up and saw me, assumed I was here to be your friend… because I looked like your _Dark Lord._" Harry remained unresponsive.

Thomas smoothed the child's cheek and after awhile, Harry slapped his hand away.

"It is fortunate that you still haven't lost your spark, Harry," Thomas gently spoke. "If you lose that, you will lose yourself and very soon we would tire of you. It is more enjoyable to see you so adamantly resisting us," Tom smoothed Harry's lips. "And we will take with force what it is that you continue to deny…"

Harry found that he could not understand his thoughts and feelings. By all means, he should be fighting and cursing Thomas, _Voldemort his mind quipped,_ but he could not. They regarded each other for awhile and Harry was the first to break the stare.

Thomas wore a mask that made it difficult to discern his true intentions, and his angelic appearance made one doubt if he was capable of any _devilry._ And was this not devilry? He signed himself to an eternity with the devil without even understanding what it entailed.

Thomas stopped restraining him and Harry breathed a little easier, the weight pressing down on him, gone.

The voice echoed across the walls when it said, "_When you've rested, I'll teach you things you'd do well to remember. Believe it or not, you are important to me, and perhaps Voldemort. You belong to us and we take very good care of our possessions. You will need all that you have to confront him."_

Harry inched away and pressed himself to the headboard. His thoughts swarmed like bees and they stung. It stung as much as the tears that continued leaking out from his eyes. He turned to look at his molester who seemed to have opted to fall asleep beside him.

Harry left Thomas on the bed and opted to summon a couch to him. He also willed himself to be clean, but he felt dirty, like he was touched by a disease…

"I hate you." Harry vowed to show Voldemort that he would keep his promise. He _would_ kill him. For now though, he tried his hardest to keep the tears from flowing, but the more he stopped them, the more it seemed to flow.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>Again, I apologize for the _slightly_ late update. I was busy revising and attending to some real life concerns, but the reviews and feedback kept me happy _and at least I managed one chapter_. So, if you did enjoy this chapter, I'd appreciate your thoughts on it. Again thank you for all the favorites, alerts, PMs and reviews.

_Next chapter, we will see more of the wizarding world, since I've glossed about the changes quite briefly. Severus will finally decide. Harry would finally confront Voldemort and well... you'd have to wait to read more._


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Thank you to all who read and reviewed last chapter. This chapter will provide further background to the story. I've decided to cut chapter 5 into three parts. Expect an update after a day or two. Also please **go back** to chapter 4 and read the author's notes. There are some clarifications on the author's note about the story.

Another clarification is that, Voldemort in this story isn't snake faced. Tom is the first horcrux within the diary, I believe that after merging with Voldemort, the oldest soul-piece would have retained more humanity that he would look more like his younger self. He's as handsome as ever, I mean.

I'd like to dedicate this to my friend, Trisha. We reworked the outline of this chapter and I had to scrap certain things, but I liked how it all turned out. I'll try to stick to around 6000 words per chapter from now on. Most people tend to complain when the chapter's too long anyway so I wouldn't want to bother you with over 10, 000 words. Also, if you find any errors, point it out to me. This is a fairly tame chapter.

Enjoy reading~

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><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 5**

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><p>A wand prodded the unconscious figure. Hermione huffed and turned to Sirius. She ordered imperiously, "Get me a calming draught."<p>

Sirius patted the fifteen-year-old on her head. "Now, now, don't get mad."

"You should have stayed hidden, Sirius! You scared him," Hermione said. Sirius chuckled at Hermione for stating the obvious. The bushy haired girl raised an eyebrow when Sirius didn't move. Sirius shook his head and muttering, "Kids don't even know how to show proper respect these days."

The man left through the large mahogany doors. Sirius Black was someone Hermione respected and she grew to like the man despite how she was initially hostile to him. They found him through the help of the twins a year ago, and after proving that Black was actually innocent, they made sure that Dumbledore protected him.

Black was a monumental help in establishing their bases and recruiting the right people. Most of the time, the man goofed around though. Hermione once thought that it was because of the time he spent in Azkaban, but later understood that a Marauder would always stay a Marauder.

So like most of the Black family properties, the villa was opulent. The receiving room was highlighted in tones of gray, brown and silver. The colors were a bit too Slytherin for her tastes but it would do. There was coffee table in the middle. There was a small circular basin sat on top of it, and below, there was small compartment that held trinkets that most are unfamiliar with. The fireplace gave a rich warm glow to the room. The couches were brown and comfy. There two doors, a tiny door leading to the cupboard, and an ornate wooden one led to the rest of the villa.

Hermione turned her eyes to the opening door and hoped it was Sirius, but was met with some of the Weasley siblings. Hermione counted one to ten and flashed a pleasant smile. Fred and George came, together with a rather reluctant Ron. If they saw her smile, they pretended to ignore it.

"Is that?" Fred gestured to the unconscious figure.

"Yes, it's Neville, and I'm going to wake him up so don't try to scare him okay?" Hermione tapped her lips and the twins nodded. Ron grunted. So they actually understood her, she thought.

Hermione muttered the charm, "Ennerverate", and watched Neville regain his consciousness.

The first thing he said was, "Where am I?" Neville looked around and saw them. He blinked his eyes, and stood up, wincing when he felt the pain on his bank. Neville continued, "Hermione? Ron? I thought I saw..." the voice trailed off when Neville went white as a sheet again.

Hermione wanted to growl in annoyance. She knew what Neville saw without having to look behind her.

"Merlin, Sirius, stop traumatizing him. Just give me the potion," Hermione took the offered vial and flashed a friendly smile to Neville which only served to scare the boy further. Sirius left the room in order to avoid Hermione's wrath. Neville scurried away and searched for his wand but he could not find it on his person. He fumbled for something in his robes and was pleased to find the amethyst stone that he kept in case of emergencies. Neville raised his wand and Hermione's eyes flashed, "Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew to Hermione's hand and Neville backed up farther against the wall.

"Why am I here? Hermione have you lost your mind? I'll tell on you if you don't drop that!"

Neville took the stone and murmured a word.

"Wouldn't try that if I were you," Fred said, "you get–" George continued and winced when Neville screamed "...shocked." The poor boy looked as if he was suffering from some form of seizure. The twins grinned.

"Told you so."

"Aw, is the boy alright?"

"That looks– "

"Painful."

"Doc, will he–"

"live?"

"Of course."

"He will?"

One of the twins sauntered to the groaning boy.

"Nothing serious here, son!"

Hermione slapped a hand on her forehead and snarled, "OUT! Out, Fred, George… GET OUT!"

Ron remained, and sat on the chair deftly ignoring her orders.

From beyond the doors, they could hear the two singing, "Hermione and Ron, sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N–"

Hermione promptly erected silencing wards.

"Better."

Ron nodded, and pursed his lips. He seemed to hesitate but finally he started speaking. "Hermione."

"Ron."

_Awkward._

"Dumbledore just got back. He's being nursed by madam Pomfrey… We lost some from our side. They got Snape." Ron kicked the coffee table with his foot, and leaned his head back. He was more subdued when he continued saying, "They'll have a word with you tonight."

"I see," Hermione did not see the picture really, but it was all she could think of saying to Ron. He was never the same after the incident. No one was.

Hermione's gaze softened as she looked at the still sulking boy, and it turned into worry when Ron continued, "The new recruits failed again. Azkaban can't be breached. You-know-who strengthened the security so there's no chance of getting them out there soon. The rest are kept in the castle. We can't do anything about that. I say we just kill them–" Hermione hissed, "No we can't do that Ron. We might have their loyalty but killing them, that's too harsh," Hermione said. Ron looked to the ceiling and let out a wry laugh.

"Fine then. Let them suffer. You know how they treat the prisoners. Did you see what they did today?"

Hermione never expected that the Dark Lord would use so many of his prisoners for the ritual... She bit her lip. "I was there."

"And you still think that it's better not to kill them?"

"No–"

"Then let's kill them."

"We didn't know they'd die today. If it makes you happy... I'll talk to Dumbledore about it. Just drop it. I'm not going to argue with you Ron. I'm just... too tired for that now. "

Ron looked spiteful at the casual mention of talking to Dumbledore. Ron sometimes envied Hermione for her genius. Dumbledore trusts her enough, and the rest treat her as if she's a senior member of the Order of the Phoenix. The crown belongs to her, and any side would gladly accept her.

Hermione noticed the scowl on Ron before it had a chance to disappear. She let it go for now but promised that she would talk to Ron later.

Now there was another thing on their mind, Severus. Even though he didn't particularly like Severus, he was a valuable ally against Voldemort. For one, Severus served as their only spy within the inner circle. Someone groaned.

"D-did... I just hear Dumbledore. You... all of you are rebels? What do you want with me?" Neville's voice brought Hermione back to the present. She offered a glass and Neville took it with shaking fingers. "Calming draught. Drink it. Don't worry, it's not poison. If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now."

Neville drank it thinking along the lines of, _to hell with it_.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yeah, a little."

Ron snorted. Hermione glared. Neville righted himself and tried to stand up. All this time he was uncomfortably sprawled on the floor and they did not help him. _Love birds_, he grumbled in his mind.

Hermione helped him up and led him to a brown sofa opposite Ron's. Neville, despite the calming draught, felt something like fear race through his spine. '_How many times have they done this?_' Neville wondered.

"Neville, what we're going to tell you should remain a secret. To ensure your safety and ours, would you be willing to give me an oath?"

Neville proceeded to ask, "Why should I trust you?"

Hermione promptly swore an oath, "I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth to Neville Longbottom, effective only for this day, the 31st of October, year 1995, and only for the things I would speak of within this room. So mote it be."

Neville nodded a bit reluctantly.

"Ok."

"Then promise me."

Neville stared at the impassive figures of his housemates and gulped.

"I, Neville Longbottom, promise to keep all that I would learn tonight, a secret."

A weak bond was formed, and Hermione uttered a spell that would alert her if the promise would be broken. The oath was not really needed. She just wanted to find out if Neville was ready or if they needed to force more calming draughts in him. It didn't matter if he was though. All that mattered was that he joined.

Neville shifted and asked for another pressing issue, "What about my safety? If I don't agree with you, will you let me go?"

Hermione nodded, "An obliviate would do."

Neville reluctantly agreed with the condition. He reminded himself that Hermione shouldn't be able to lie now.

"We're not really rebels. Neville, if anything, we're a revolutionary army," Hermione began.

"But... that still makes you a rebel," Neville offered helplessly. Hermione coughed. Ron explained for him, "Mione hates the term _rebel_." Ron quoted the word rebel with his fingers.

Hermione flushed, and was about to say a perfectly justified reason why she believed it was not apt to call them mere rebels, when suddenly, a house elf popped and served them drinks and pastries. Ron gladly took one and offered some to Neville who declined.

The bonds on the chair allowed the teen free movement of his hands. "You sure?" Ron asked, and followed "this stuff is delicious."

On the plate, there were self refreshing assortments of cookies, chocolates, candies, finger sandwiches, scones and wafer sticks; another pop, and they were served drinks.

Hermione continued explaining and Neville thought he was dreaming, and he was beginning to hate himself for denying the offer. Ron made it a point to make his munches as loud as possible.

Their muggleborn friend was undeterred. She took one chocolate and broke it in half. Their eyes were on her, and the chocolate.

"How would you like to have a chance in overthrowing the empire, Neville?" Hermione began. To this, Neville answered quite plainly, "No. The Dark Lord is too powerful and it would be suicide." Ron chuckled, "We'd never know unless we tried."

"But don't you want it? Revenge? I know something about you, Neville. The reason why your parents are insane, it's because of _him_. Isn't this reason enough for you to hate him?" Hermione asked.

To this question, Neville merely glowered, "Keep my parents out of this. It's true. I hate the Dark Lord, but it doesn't mean that I hate his empire. You've seen how he improved the wizarding world, haven't you?" Neville threw back the question.

"For what justified reason is he turning students into killing machines? You call that improvement? Neville, we have _no _freedom. Are you that brainwashed that you'd agree to the methods the Dark Lord employs to mold this country to his liking?" Hermione gestured to the pensieve in the middle of the coffee table.

"I'd like you to see a few memories."

Hermione pointed her wand on her head and dragged a silvery strand from it. She dropped this to the basin. "I'm going to show you the real Hogwarts."

Neville nodded.

They entered the memory.

"_But professor, this wasn't part of the deal. What do you mean by fighting them?" Hermione stared at the arena. They were inside Voldemort's castle. Rabastan Lestrange only chuckled at her naivety, "Ms. Granger, did you really think it would be that easy to get the crown? The Dark Lord deemed it necessary that the candidates be thoroughly tested. This last test is to see if you have what it takes to reign supreme in one of the most important areas of magic, dueling. You will duel them, and do not worry about accidentally harming your classmates. They've been briefed and they are here because they've accepted those terms. They are out for your blood."_

_Hermione gripped her wand a little tighter._

"_The winner of the tournament will be granted several rights. We are offering you knowledge, power and prestige within Hogwarts. Certainly, you cannot resist this offer... If that does not make it any sweeter, the Dark Lord instructed us to grant the winner a personal tutor on any subject the winner wishes to learn. If you win the crown, you have… one whole year until the next crowning ceremony to enjoy it. What's a small duel?"_

_Below her, there were several students all from different year levels. Fourth year students and up were allowed to join. Hermione was chosen because she was the top of her year. There was Draco Malfoy, Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, and lots of other people she does not know._

_The first duel they witnessed was of Draco and a sixth year student they didn't know. Draco was fast and brutal, using dark hexes and crippling the enemy in less than five minutes. When the sixth year was proclaimed defeated, the teen already had a concussion, several broken bones and a missing arm. She wondered if the sixth year would ever be able to have that arm back again, since usually, dark magic rendered healing magic null._

"_Sir, I'd like to know why this is necessary." Rodolphus turned to her and stopped giving a commentary on the duel. They were standing on one of the balconies of the castle, so that they could see the duels properly. "Child, isn't it obvious that the Dark Lord wants to gather you gifted children into his army? All of these students you see below you have either been marked as the Dark Lord's next generation of elites or they considered as one of the candidates. You in particular. We have our eye on you. While you are in Hogwarts, you can decline our offer, but once you graduate, if you continue to decline, the dark lord would consider it an act of treason." Hermione's eyes widened when she saw a student die in front of her._

_The arbiter announced, "Every method is allowed. The only exception is use of the killing curse and killing your opponent. Zabini, for killing your opponent, you would have to fight one more round to proceed to the next level."_

"_Wait... that's an insane rule. What if he kills all his opponents?"_

_Rodolphus chuckled, "Not exactly. If he can do that, he certainly deserves to have the crown... but don't you agree that it would be tiresome to have to fight in a straight row?"_

Hermione cut the memory. Neville looked ill. "You...the crown– Does that mean?"

"Yes. I've accidentally killed some. It couldn't be helped. A month from now, I'm going to have to defend my position and this time, I'll try my best not to."

Neville looked disturbed that Hermione could casually admit to killing one of the students in Hogwarts. "If you think turning children into soldiers to fight wars for him is bad enough, you should see what he does to his prisoners."

"No... I don't want to see that. I've heard rumors," Neville said. Ron swirled his cup and downed it in one go before saying, "Rumors don't do the actual thing justice."

"Ron, stop making it sound as if you actually enjoy watching it," Hermione chastised. She turned to Neville and smiled tightly, "Dumbledore believes that you would play an important part in the war. He mentioned to us a prophecy involving you and the Dark Lord. We will see him later."

Neville considered this and replied, "so he is alive... and what do you mean, like Harry?" Neville trailed off, and continued when they said nothing, "What has Dumbledore been up to all this time?" Neville would have liked to address the former headmaster with a little more respect but he lost it when the public found out about his illicit affairs with Grindelwald. Many viewed the man as a lunatic and any of those who followed the man were bound to be crazy. To be so close to finding the truth was exhilarating and a little scary.

"Two years ago, Dumbledore had foreseen the eventual rise of the Dark Lord. No one believed him, but those that did connived to form an army that would counter the Dark Lord's eventual rise to power." Hermione then took one bite on the dark chocolate and her face lit up. She reminded herself to thank the house-elves for the wonderful treats.

"If Dumbledore formed an army two years ago, why wasn't he able to stop the Dark Lord from rising?" Neville asked. Ron's eyes narrowed at this. "It's not Dumbledore's fault."

"He was being persecuted at this point and we haven't gathered enough members. Your Dark Lord believes that anyone who opposed him deserved to die..."

"So what you mean to say is that, you had trouble recruiting people."

"It's been over ten years of peace, Neville. Britain wasn't prepared to accept the idea that the Dark Lord would rise again. When the Dark Lord bombed the ministry and held Hogwarts and St. Mungos hostage, the citizens had no other option but to abide by his new laws. It was an overnight transformation."

Neville suddenly remembered the time when Death Eaters stormed their house and forced them to attend the pureblood gathering for the New Order. They all prostrated themselves before their new leader. Behind their leader was the Dark Lord's inner circle. To see Bellatrix Lestrange right next to the Dark Lord was big blow to him and it was the first time he ever wanted to kill someone so badly. His gran stopped him from doing anything stupid by digging her nails on his arm.

"I've never been able to prove it, but we suspect that the Dark Lord rose through possessing Harry." Hermione didn't want to look at Ron. Both of them hated how they treated Harry before he was lost to them forever. When they saw the body and assumed it was dead, they've been horrified and a strong wave of guilt consumed them. They knew then that Harry was innocent but they vented on him for no reason at all. They were actually relieved the boy was still alive, even comatose, but it turned to dread at what else Harry had to experience in order to get to that state.

"For years, we built up the army, and recently, we've managed to convince Dumbledore that it wouldn't matter if those we recruit are teenagers. We've refused to take action but really, sacrificing souls to condense magic in Britain? That's just... inhumane. Neville, most of his victims are innocent. This organization exists to help us prepare for the worst. You understand why it's necessary don't you? The members of this group have joined it for different causes. Some do not wish to fight–"

"Everyone who joins this army wants to fight, Hermione." Ron muttered, biting a chocolate bar. Hermione thought that Ron was being uncooperative. She drank her tea, and tried to calm herself down. It would not do to fight with Ron and show how immature they both are when they're trying to convince Neville.

After awhile, Neville said, "This is all too fast for me... and what about our safety, what if someone finds out?"

Hermione laughed and said, "No one would. We've devised a way that would circumvent members from falling prey to legilemency attacks and Veritaserum. Although there are other ways to extract information from us, the death eaters would be hard pressed to find out how." Hermione pointed her wand on one corner of the room and summoned a map from a large jar. It began unrolling.

"And if all else fails we can just kill them," Ron said.

"Kill them?" Neville murmured, incredulous.

The map floated on top of the table and Ron snatched the plates under it, placing it on his arm chair. Hermione laughed at Ron's antics and then looked at Neville who was still expecting an answer. "We've never done it. Kill the members of the army, I mean. It's just a fail-safe. If this organization is found out, there would be no force to stop the Dark Lord in Britain. At this moment, it's still possible to defeat the Dark Lord."

Hermione points at Scotland.

"The New Order headquarters is situated near Hogwarts. So far, all attempts at breaking down its wards ended in failure but it's just a matter of time," Hermione said confidently. The Dark Lord's castle came into view and it was projected on top of the map, rotating. Hermione pointed to the gardens, "Inside the headquarters, that pillar exists to hold the entirety of the multi-layer wards that make the dome cage. If you don't know yet, there is an unseen dome that protects this land and prevents British wizards and witches like us from leaving or entering the country without recognition. There are seven pillars in total, and we've only uncovered three."

Hermione tapped the locations and two other inconspicuous looking pillars were shown. She bit her lip and then said, "The second pillar is in plain view, the newly erected execution tower in Diagon Alley. Another is within the lower levels of Azkaban."

Neville looked at her and wondered how she got all her information.

"I know all this because I've promised and dedicated my life to destroy this joke of an empire. Now, where was I?" Hermione asked, but continued on by tapping the map twice and the map enlarged around the area of Europe, the rest of the world vanished from the paper.

"See here," Hermione traced the entirety of Britain, and Germany. "These are the known territories of the Dark Lord. Europe isn't under his power yet. It's good for us since Italy, Spain and a large faction of France still openly opposes the Dark Lord's rule. They say that a government run by a Dark Lord deserves no recognition. I agree with them. They want the Dark Lord dead and this is why the Dark Lord is preparing for war." Hermione stops herself from dwelling too much on the subject.

"He has influence all over the world," Hermione tapped the map outwards and it showed the whole world again. She pointed at Egypt, Russia, China, Japan, India and a small part of Canada. She sighed, "...and he's convincing them to form an allegiance with him."

Hermione smiled tightly. "It seems difficult to get back Britain from his hands, but don't worry, we have several allies from other countries like that of France, and Italy... The only problem is the warding system in this country. Britain's defenses have improved exponentially because of the tricky dome surrounding Britain. It is not open to attack, even muggle attack. There is a hole in this defense though. Only magical beings are kept inside, but those who have no magic have free reign."

"This means, we can smuggle and trade with other countries using non-magical beings. This solves the problem of our wand traces," Hermione smiled, and took out three wands.

"These are the wands that I'm using. You'll learn more of this later."

Hermione closed the map and said, "Like I said, it's not that hopeless. As we speak, we even have several members of the army within the Dark Lord's service."

"Then, why me? Why did you choose me?"

"You're a key figure in this war, and he's going to personally train us… you in particular."

Neville sighed and thought about it. A chance like this won't come again if he fails "What you're offering, it sounds insane but, you do have a point... before I decide… I'd like to know the details of the prophecy."

"Then we'll take you to Dumbledore later," Ron said.

Hermione stole a cookie from Ron's plate. "I still think this is insane," Neville muttered. Ron groaned, "You have no idea."

"Are you done yet?" a voice said from beyond the door.

Neville suddenly fell quiet.

"What about Sirius Black?"

There was silence.

Hermione finished munching on her cookie. "Ah him? Don't worry about him. He's as harmless as a puppy."

"What she means to say, is that, Sirius Black is innocent."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Now that I'm done explaining, let's have you meet the others!" Hermione said cheerfully. Ron wiped the crumbs off his clothes and lips and nodded towards Neville.

"Come, they've been waiting for you."

Neville gulped. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Hermione smiled, "Why ask questions when you already know the answer? Come."

Neville sighed.

He didn't even get to taste the sweets.

* * *

><p>There was a tense atmosphere. The true inner circle members have been summoned in the throne room to report to the Dark Lord. Some of them dreaded the summons while most were looking forward to being entertained.<p>

They remained standing while the Dark Lord was on the dais, comfortably sitting on his golden throne.

Amycus Carrow came bundling in, he genuflected and kissed Voldemort's feet.

"Amycus, I was beginning to think you've lost your way. You should learn from your sister. Rise," the Dark Lord said and watched as Amycus went to his spot. "Will you tell me why you've made us wait?"

"Forgive me, my Lord. I've finished the task that you've asked for." Amycus said, adjusting his robe. He cleared his throat, "We've secured the Russian minister's approval, my Lord."

"Good, and we shall meet with him, where?" The Dark Lord seemed pleased and eager.

"Netherlands. He did not agree to meet within Britain for fear that you would betray him. He has jurisdiction within Netherlands however, as it is a neutral ground and quite near to our territories, he thought it was a symbol of good will to meet us there." Amycus let out a breath when the Dark Lord nodded in agreement. "That is fair enough,"

_Now came what Amycus feared of answering._

"…and what of Dumbledore's whereabouts?"

No one was able to speak a word.

"Carrow, must I repeat myself?" The Dark Lord asked. Nagini slithered next to them. Amycus flinched. Voldemort hissed to his familiar and the snake answered his call. Nagini settled herself near the Dark Lord's feet.

Amycus cleared his throat and said, "Dumbledore used several portkeys and I've had my team investigate each area but they left no trace as to where they are. We could only assume that they have found a way to circumvent the portkey trace of the dome."

Voldemort smiled. "You fail me again."

"My Lord-"

The Dark Lord cast a customary crucio, but kept it short. "It is a growing concern of mine, my friends, how Dumbledore always manages to slip our grasp." Amycus panted and righted himself, "I have an idea, my Lord."

The Dark Lord seemed interested, and gestured for Amycus to continue with his hand. Amycus began, "I've enlisted Fenrir and some of our trace experts. I think they've managed to find a hole in the dome. We've been led to believe that they've been using portkeys and fidelus charms to keep them from being discovered but we've noticed that the portkeys are only chained to activate but are not necessarily used. There was no other magical residue from it that denoted wizards have arrived in the set location of the portkeys."

The Dark Lord seemed incensed. "So the old man still has some tricks up his sleeve. I've considered the possibility that they've been exploiting the limits of the dome and they're using a different form of travel... something that doesn't use apparition, or portkeys..." The Dark Lord trailed, and he caressed Nagini's head distractedly. He addressed Amycus with a small glint of approval, "Amycus, I want your team to give me all plausible forms of magical travel. Also, have someone check the floo network. We've deemed floo travel obsolete but if by some reason, they are using that as a means of escape, we must dismantle it completely."

"It will be done, my Lord."

"We need not worry about Dumbledore for he cannot deal any lasting damage with his pathetic army. His _order_ will never be realized. The dome will be strengthened to recognize any form of magic soon enough, and if they still don't fall to our hands by then, they will eventually tire and die."

There were murmurs of approval. The Dark Lord did not want to dwell too much on failure.

He turned to Bellatrix and asked, "Bella, what of the riot? I assume they've been less than pleased with today's events."

Bellatrix grinned, "Yes my lord, they're being taught manners as we speak."

"Ah, and the ringleaders?"

"I've sent the useless ones to the Porcupine. We'll see a footage in a week to see who breaks first."

"Do not kill them all, Bella."

"My Lord, as for the real upstart, I can have her summoned. She's pretty feisty... I want to keep her as a pet."

"And who might this be?"

"Nymphadora Tonks, My Lord," Bellatrix said.

"She is your niece if I am not mistaken. Why was it not mentioned that she was captured?" The Dark Lord turned to Amycus who was about to speak but was cut off by Bellatrix. "She's a recent capture, my Lord. Carrow's group was able to salvage her from Dumbledore's capture. We didn't recognize her at first because she's a metamorphagus. Only when we had her questioned did we confirm her identity. Perhaps we could turn her."

There were more murmurs in the air. The death eaters seemed interested at what form of torture their dear Bellatrix employed on her _own_ niece.

"This Nymphadora is a member of the order, is she not? Hmn, the idea has its merit. I'd like to see her now." The dark lord leaned further back in her chair. He watched how Bellatrix lit up with giddiness at the prospect of presenting her niece.

"Certainly, my Lord."

Bellatrix didn't bother to excuse herself and it just showed how incredibly lenient the Dark Lord was to the woman. She opened the large mahogany doors and ordered the guards to bring them the girl who was locked up in her torture chamber.

Soon enough, the woman was dragged inside. Nymphadora was wearing the customary white robes that barely covered anything. Matted hair, bruised lips - a metamorphagus... rendered unable to transform. A witch deprived of magic and humiliated like a muggle.

He wondered what else her beloved Bella did to her niece.

"I could not help myself, my Lord. She's such a disobedient child. She must be taught," at this, Bellatrix cooed in Nymphadora's direction. The woman spat at her, and Bellatrix wiped it off with her fingers, wiping it on the woman's hair. She murmured a small crucio and silenced Nymphadora. The woman writhed on the floor and the Death Eaters barely batted an eye.

"Fine, do with her what you wish. Make her talk, if she does not, kill her."

From the shadows, a figure emerged. The white robes were entirely covered with blood.

"Ah... Lucius, I wasn't expecting you'd make it," the Dark Lord seemed pleased. Lucius shared a secret smile with the dark lord.

"I would have come as soon as you called, my lord," Lucius said truthfully, but soon enough, he had a Bellatrix clinging to his arm. Rodolphus watched with an amused eye how Bellatrix pressed her breasts against her brother-in-law. Rodolphus always found her wife stunning, and it would have unnerved him to see Bellatrix flirting with others but he knew Lucius hated Bellatrix.

It was more funny than irritating. He let her wife have her way. There was no way he could ever put a rein on Bellatrix, _his crazy beautiful wife._

"Who were you playing with, Lucius?"

"Severus." It was flat answer on Lucius's mouth.

"But Sevvie doesn't torture people. He... wait, my Lord?" Bellatrix turned to the Dark Lord who flashed his teeth in a wide grin. "We've found a traitor in our ranks. I've allowed Lucius to teach our Severus a lesson since it was he who brought the knowledge that Severus was unfaithful... Amycus, you may have a turn with Severus as you see fit. He is partly the reason why your capture failed."

The dark lord watched as his death eaters argued among themselves. A lot of them hated Severus and a lot of them wanted to torture the man. Some pitied him but most just wanted to see him dead. Bellatrix ran forward and curtsied in front of him, "That's not fair! If I may, my Lord. I want to volunteer myself to the task–" The Dark Lord smiled although it was a smile that instantly quieted Bellatrix. "I've allowed you to keep Nymphadora, Bellatrix. Severus is another matter. I do not want him dead, yet. I fear that you might, slip... and kill him… accidentally."

Bellatrix shook her head vigorously but at this the Dark Lord ignored her. The Dark Lord's voice was excited when he asked, "So how is the traitor?"

"Let's just say, he's not having very pleasant dreams. He's breaking my Lord. Tomorrow we can proceed with the ritual," Lucius brushed his hair, and most of the death eaters remarked that they were seeing the Malfoy Lord in a different light. The normally pristine Lucius seemed to not notice how _horrid_ he looked. They began to wonder why it was so. Normally, Lucius did not give in to _bloodlust_ unlike some of them.

Bellatrix was the first to ask, "What ritual?" She was very curious.

"Ah, you will all find out tomorrow." The Dark Lord was tight lipped about the subject and some turned to Lucius who didn't utter a word about it since their Lord decided to keep it a secret.

Lucius was thinking, not of the ritual, but of the reason behind it. Lucius always wondered why the Dark Lord was so fascinated of the child. He even kept a shrine for the brat. He did not know what else could a comatose 12-year-old have in him that was so useful to the Dark Lord when he could easily have the world without the child's help.

He tried to keep his face a blank mask while he pondered. Lucius was grateful that the Dark Lord imparted to him the knowledge. Bellatrix also knew that the child was alive but then, she was under the assumption that the Dark Lord only wanted to keep the child as a trophy.

Their Lord also had the habit of sparing boys who resembled Harry, but then later on, the children would die. They didn't know what their Lord did to the children but most presumed the Dark Lord tortured and killed them. Most didn't bother and thought it was just a way for Voldemort to relive his victory over Potter, but since the Dark Lord kept Harry alive, it was another matter.

Perhaps, he thought, the Dark Lord was internally frustrated that he could not kill the child. That was why he took a lot of substitutes and began killing them.

The servants were unable to speak of it since the Dark Lord made it so. He cringed at the Dark Lord's treatment of his servants. They were human beings, lesser than them, but Lucius still considered them to be _more_ than house-elves.

The Dark Lord's personal servants had their tongues cut, their magic sealed, their minds broken... they were no different from inferi, except, they were still alive. The Dark Lord drilled to them perfect obedience, and secrecy. He tried to find out what the Dark Lord was doing with those children, but even after kidnapping one, and using every attempt of extracting the knowledge, it was difficult.

The servants knew something. Mayhap, he needed to employ a servant that would answer to him, however he doubted it would work.

Lucius was shook from his reveries when he felt Bellatrix prodding him and smiling. He then turned to look at the woman at their feet and said, "Bella, any more and you might render her insane. Who is this?"

"Oh, you don't know? She's Nymphadora. Nymphadora, meet your uncle, Lucius." Bellatrix kicked the woman for good measure and stopped the curse. Voldemort eyed them with amusement.

"...and what of the festivities?" The Dark Lord asked.

Rodolphus began, "No unusual occurrences. The citizens have been quite obedient. Even the foreign representatives have approved of it. As for the students, some have gone missing but we have already expected this. We've given them free reign to explore the country and we would know if they're performing curses."

The Dark Lord waved a hand as if shooing a fly and said, "Fine, let the troublemakers have fun. It is after all, Halloween. Punish any rule breakers tomorrow, if needed. They deserve a little freedom." The Dark Lord was particularly interested with the changes in Hogwarts. Rabastan was especially creative in suggesting a crowning system. Bellatrix gushed at the promise they've been shown when they watched the tournament commence last year.

"Rodolphus, Alecto, Rabastan, as my overseers in Hogwarts, is there anything you'd like to share? Something interesting, perhaps?"

Rabastan was first to speak, "At the request of the Crown and her bishops, Draco and Cedric, an idea to push more electives for the students is being considered. In addition to Blood Magic, and the other electives you've chosen to put, they recommended opening electives that are limited to purebloods... to the rest of Hogwarts constituents, like Necromancy, Elemental theory, Soul Magic, Sex Magic, and Animagus transformation."

"The mudblood?"

"Yes my Lord, the child is exemplary. She astounds most in her Dark Arts classes. Draco comes close to second and both are vying for the crown this year," Alecto said. She hated mudbloods but after seeing the talent and potential Granger offered, she was willing to make an exception.

There were some noises of disagreement, but most agreed with the rumored prowess of the mudblood child.

"The crown... such a wonderful concept. Granger, is it. I've seen her fight, she reminds me of Bellatrix," The Dark Lord watched how Lucius tightened his grip on the cane when Bellatrix said, "Lucius, hear what he said? Little Draco has been beaten by a mudblood," she cackled soon after.

Lucius forced himself not to curse Bellatrix. "That is true. Last year it was earned by the mudblood, by a _fraction._ This year, I'm not so sure," Lucius promised that his son would win the competition this year. "Aww, Lucius, don't worry. I'll help little Draco if you like?"

Lucius was incensed, "Draco does not require your help."

"I've been hearing rumors of this girl as well. My Lord, they say she's aiming to surpass your record in Hogwarts," Yaxley said, interested.

"Then perhaps it would please us all if we are to meet this child. Bring her here tomorrow," the Dark Lord ordered.

The meeting continued with speculation on how to get the child to join their ranks. They then conversed of the politics involved with the much talked about allegiance between the twelve countries of magic.

After assigning separate tasks for his Death Eaters and telling them some of his own plans, the Dark Lord dismissed them.

All was proceeding well, in the Dark Lord's mind. The Dark Lord would finally have Harry back in his arms Tomorrow. His army was ready for war. Dumbledore was soon going to be caught. Tonight… tonight he would have Anthony meet his seven sinners. They would be delighted to see another _brother_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>_And so the plot thickens._ I apologize that there's no Harry/Tom here but there will be on chapter 6. I won't be concentrating on Neville as much as I would with the other characters. Don't worry. I just found it necessary to show what the other faction was doing and that they're not entirely _useless_. The coming chapters would focus more on Harry and Voldemort. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Review please~


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **The future chapters would probably be more violent. I'm quite distracted with several real life activities but I will try to update regularly. Before you ask, I don't believe that the Dark Lord is just a sick _rapist_. A part of him still remains insane and even merging with Tom's soul he's still going to retain part of that insanity… or else he isn't Voldemort.

* * *

><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 6**

* * *

><p>Time within the Diary was totally skewed. Thomas informed him that time passes by more quickly outside the Diary than inside it. Not one to believe Thomas <em>after what he did<em>, Harry sought for proof and waited for the _Tom_ or Anthony to write back again, but so far, it was only him and Thomas for days on end.

"I don't want your help," Harry snarled. Thomas only chuckled at the child's antics and replied, "You need it, however. Don't deny it." Thomas circled the child.

"I've told you everything I know of him. Don't I deserve some gratitude, hmmn?" Thomas continued.

Harry remained stubborn all throughout and Thomas wondered if it was worth the trouble to teach the uncooperative brat.

"Harry, however you'd like to think we have an eternity to spend together, time is slowly running out. We would leave the diary soon–" Harry cut him off and said, "I know that. You don't have to tell me twice. I just. I can't stand you!"

He wondered if he should just leave the child by himself. It would be sad if the Dark Lord would soon tire of Harry and discard him. It was also true that he wasn't helping Harry out of the goodness of his own _heart_ if he had that.

His interest in the child was not unfounded. After seeing what Harry was capable of, he knew Harry had what it took to stand up to the Dark Lord… only getting there was a problem. Harry had the will to survive. He knew if he pushed the right buttons, the child would be worthy enough to be called their _equal_. But right now, what he saw... For the lack of a better word, what he saw was utterly disappointing.

Thomas thought was a patient man, but his patience was slowly dwindling. Harry needed to be taught another _lesson._

Mere words would not even compare to actions. He told Harry what the Dark Lord would do to him, and what could happen if he remained ignorant, but it didn't seem to sink in to the child. Being inside the diary sheltered Harry from the harsh reality and so he would not expect the child to properly grasp the situation. Understandably, Harry was still a child, and like a child, it took time for them to understand _adult matters_.

The child hated him with a passion and refused any of his help hoping that Thomas would leave him alone. He could praise the child since the child was doing a good job of alienating him... but he could not have that. His mind played around the idea of _actions._ Perhaps he should try a different approach.

Thomas touched Harry's shoulder and Harry flinched away from him, wary. Thomas frowned and dug his fingers on Harry's shoulder, effectively stopping all movement. Not about to let the boy speak, he said, "Harry, as much as I admire you for believing yourself capable of facing my other self, the Dark Lord. As you are, it is quite impossible. Do you **truly** not want my help?"

Harry bit his lip and refused to speak. Thomas let go of the chin and kicked the child on his stomach. Harry fell to the ground, clutching himself and curling into a ball, "Bastard."

"Ah, that is true. Should I be pleased that you've been taking my lessons to heart, Harry?" Thomas prodded the child with his feet and around them, the world shifted.

Harry's eyes opened in wide horror as water began to engulf his lungs.

"This will teach you to learn some manners."

A foot kept him under, and all that he could hear was laughter.

* * *

><p>"This is as far as we're allowed to go. Please think twice before doing something stupid," one of the servants said. His name was? <em>Unimportant<em>… or rather, they did not bother to tell him. He had a sinking feeling that one day he would become like them. One day, he would lose his identity and stick with the unassuming name, _servant._

"Don't die." It was their parting message, and Anthony thought that, instead of it being comforting, it only gave him a sense of foreboding.

They left, and Anthony didn't know if he should stay where he was or if he should open the door. The decision was made for him when the door opened by itself.

Before him, there were five servants. He didn't know if they were muggles or not. Usually the dark lord would mark traitors on the face; usually there were small markings on the wrist that would show the purity of a person's blood. The servants seemed to have no mark whatsoever, except for the snake that was tattooed on their right arm to their wrist denoting they were _servants_. Their mouths were closed, and none of them seemed too keen to speak. They wore an elegant garb of black and each servant was neat and clean looking. Like _dolls._

Anthony counted two servants on the left, and two servants on the right. There was someone in front of him and he assumed that he was the one in charge. His uniform was different. The servants were wearing the customary black garbs while the man in front of him was wearing a white robe.

The servant bowed, and Anthony wondered if he should bow too. "I'm Anthony," he offered, lamely. The white clad servant acknowledged him with a smile that hardly reached his eyes before ushering him further in. Anthony suppressed a shudder when the door behind him closed. The click was audible enough and a hand was offered out to him. Anthony felt wary to take it, but obliged. They began walking.

They passed the disturbing corridor where the four servants remained kneeling and the world plunged into an uncomfortable silence.

Anthony took in the Dark Lord's chambers – more like his wing of the castle. It was opulent and not a spot of dust littered the floor. He expected the Dark Lord's wing to have a collection of the most horrifying things but he was relieved to see it was quite ordinary. There were trinkets that seemed interesting and unique. On the first floor, the walls were vibrantly colored, and glass was all around. Hanging upon each side of him, there were paintings of various scenery and portraits but he did not have enough time to peruse them.

The servant seemed amused at his obvious interest. Anthony was beginning to think that the servant hated him for not once did the servant attempt to talk to him. That was when he heard it. '_It is not that I hate you._'

He broke away and he stared around, wondering where the voice came from. The servant stopped as well, and Anthony's hand was taken again. The servant firmly grasped his wrist and caressed it.

'_Master cut off our tongues and made sure we could not speak. You have not bonded with the servants yet, so you would not be able to communicate with us through your mind. Thus, for conversation to occur, I need to touch you in order to speak with you.'_

Anthony was horrified. He asked the first thing in his mind, "What?"

'_Our Master is quite paranoid. Master does not trust us even if we have taken several oaths of loyalty to our Master… So we agreed to this among other things that you will soon find out. We are still able to speak and it is enough…'_

Anthony seemed indignant that someone would allow that to happen. "Why did you agree to this? It's wrong…"

_'I see you are wondering why we have allowed this to happen. Master's wishes are absolute. We simply do not have the will to resist master, more importantly we do not have the power to. You must know what happens when Master is denied? Yes. You know of our Master's temperament. I see that Master already taught you...'_ There was concern on the servant's features but it was schooled in a carefully controlled mask. '..._a lesson.'_

Anthony kept his mouth shut because he didn't want anyone's pity. The servant's declaration was pretty much like how death eaters treated the Dark Lord like he was a God not to be trifled with. Everyone bloody respected the rapist. Anthony hated how he was almost like them.

'_Refrain from asking questions until you finish the tasks Master has given you. I am not pleased that Renaldo and Fiona have sent you to me without briefing you.' _

_'Ah, so I'm a burden,'_ Anthony thought.

_'Stop fidgeting and understand that we are only under orders. We do not wish for you to suffer, because enough have suffered. We are doing this for your own good, and it would be best if you cooperate. Your name is… Anthony, if I can remember correctly?'_

Anthony tried to distract himself but with the voice in his head, it was all that he could listen to. Listening to the voice was like listening to his own parents when they were scolding him. It made him terribly small, weak and utterly ashamed. But why? Because the stranger holding his hand was already disappointed at him when it was their first meeting?

Anthony sighed, and he received a harsh grating sound in his head. It sounded like nails scraping against the board. "O-ow."

'_Pay attention, Anthony. I will not repeat this again. These are you tasks. First, Master requires that you step out of those disgusting clothes.'_

Anthony nodded at that, and if the disgust was written on his features, the servant did not bother to comment on it.

_'We will dispose of this since you will not be returning to the servant's quarters. Master's second instruction was for you take a bath.'_

Oh the much awaited bath. Ever since he was violated, and humiliated by the Dark Lord, Anthony just wanted to scrub himself raw at the repeated voice inside his head that suspiciously was his own that called out **whore**.

_'You will find the bathroom beyond the blue door within his bedchambers. Whatever you see inside that room, you must ignore it. Third, you will kneel on the floor next to his bed for the remainder of the time it takes for Master to come back.'_

They paused, or it was more like the servant suddenly dragged him backwards. They came to stop in front of a painting... _bloody_... the painting was macabre. It was of death, and it was vertically divided in three. Red colored the middle. White colored the left most part while red colored the right most part. From the top, the sun hung, burning crucified people. The painting was animated and it seemed as if the humans in the middle were in constant agony. From below there was the moon, and its chains reached out to pull victims to sleep. On the left most part, there was a mouth. On the right most part, there was a hand. In the middle, there was an eye – a golden eye. And littered all around them were snakes.

The servant began hissing. The door opened.

_'Master was benevolent enough to teach me how to say 'open' in Parseltongue. Do not gape, it is unbecoming. It is crucial that you understand your place, Anthony. Master will have your head if you do not obey master's orders. If Master does not come back for three days, you will kneel on the floor for three days. It is imperative you follow the last order. Also, you have not been allowed to touch anything so avoid doing so as much as you can. Any attempts on escape or suicide will be dealt with harshly. If you value your sanity, or your life, please, behave. Now, feel free to ask questions.'_

They passed a few corridors and went up a few floors. Anthony wondered why he was taking it all in stride. He surmised he was still in shock.

"What will _**he**_ do with me?" Anthony asked, after some time has passed.

The hand on his wrist tightened impossibly that he winced. '_If you are to address Master, you must address him properly. Have they kept you uneducated of the rules? You may only call him informally as the Dark Lord. For your station, it is apt to address him as 'my Lord', or call him as we do, Master. Never speak Master's name, or refer to Master with a mere 'he' with that tone of voice. Master does not allow disrespect. For that alone, you will be punished… and I cannot help you with this for the portraits have eyes and ears. Master can see into our minds so please be more careful of your choice of words. To answer your question, Master did not make it clear, but perhaps you will join your brothers… you do look like him.'_

"Harry Potter?... Why does the Dark Lord– I've never meant to overhear but… h-he… Does he–" They stopped when the servant narrowed his eyes at him. '_You will not last in this state. Stop stuttering. And the rumor is true about Harry Potter. As Master's personal servants, we know of our master's... obsession. You will know what we mean soon enough. The bathroom is through that door. Please do not take more than an hour to bathe.'_

Anthony was left alone again. Were the servants so jaded that they barely allowed compassion to show? They knew he was _raped _and they treated it as if it was an ordinary occurrence. Perhaps it was an ordinary occurrence. His face burned in shame, and he forced himself to think of other matters.

There was a large ornate silvery blue door that seemed to have some Asian influence. Anthony pushed open the door, not wanting to waste more time.

White.

White all over.

The floor was made of white, fleshy marble. The walls were made with protruding rocks that were also white in color. A small corridor opened towards the large _bathroom_. While he walked, he noticed that a charm had taken off his clothing. For the first time, he was seeing the bruises on his skin again.

He ignored it and focused on other things like the floor.

The floor was slightly coarse. If anything, it felt like it was made of sand. From either side of him, he could see dragons and snakes. From their mouth, water came out and flowed to a small canal that branched out to surround the walls of the octagonal room that lay beyond. In the middle, he saw a sunken bath or a pool (_from the size of it)_.

"Ah, look what we have here, another one!" The voice came from above, and Anthony realized what the servant meant when he said he would soon _understand._ There were seven prisoners, and they all looked like _him_. Anthony stayed rooted on the spot. "Come closer so we can see you!" the voice came from a teenager who seemed like he was dressed in rich robes. The teen had a hard jaded look on his eyes, and was glaring at him.

"Just when I thought master was satisfied with us. Well, look at him, scared... about to pee yourself brother? Just die and save us all the grief", someone grumbled. An annoyed voice came, "Oh shut up, Envy, Wrath. I'm trying to sleep."

"That's all you do, Sloth. You're like a zombie. You'll do well if you eat sweets with me. Hmmn. Since as we have another brother, I wonder who will be replaced."

There were echoing voices of denials and disagreements.

"Not me! Master loves fucking me. He won't ever tire of _this_." Anthony cringed in horror when he saw what the person who owned the voice was doing. He was naked, and restrained. Both hands were tied to the ceiling while a ledge was set in between his thighs. Something dark was going in and out of his ass, and the teen was enjoying it.

"Lust, that's all you're good for," the voice was from a pompous looking teen, who looked as if he was regal and every bit of superior to them all even when he was shackled to a chair. Anthony hated the teen already.

"So tell us, pretty," the one with the simpering voice, Lust said. "What are you doing here?"

Anthony swallowed and the arguments ceased, they were all expecting an answer from him

"I-I… bath. I meant. I was ordered to take a bath."

* * *

><p>After meeting the rest of the household and answering their numerous questions, Neville was called upstairs to meet Dumbledore. Neville didn't like crowds so he gladly excused himself. Upon entering the room, he saw the old man, sitting on the rocking chair near the fireplace.<p>

Neville gazed at the benevolent face of his old headmaster. Even though the headmaster looked weak, and he had bandages poking through his still eccentric robe, Dumbledore carried the air of strength, warmth and security. It was just the type of warmth that most people make people less guarded, more secure. It was this man who the Wizarding World failed to ask for guidance and because of that, the wizarding world was now in the hands of a madman.

Seeing Dumbledore alive gave a sense that all hope was not lost yet.

He was one of those who believed that Dumbledore was entirely faultless. The man fought for what he thought was right and fought for the better good. It was something that Neville respected. The slander against Dumbledore was mostly fabricated and even he could see that, so he never bothered to believe anything that he read on the papers.

If only they could go back.

He remembered how utterly ignorant he was of the world then. As a child, he was never exposed to violence of any kind. Sure his Gran was strict and disciplined him harshly, constantly trying to mold him to what his father once was, but that was the extent of his problems. He did not consider the death of his parents as a problem because he never really knew them and when he was old enough to realize he was an orphan because he didn't have a _mama _or a _papa_, it was alright. He had Gran.

Coming to Hogwarts, the only problem that was added to his Gran was _Snape_ and how he botched every potion he made.

Those were blissful days.

He did not have any expectations for himself but he had firm morals. He knew what was right from wrong and because of that, he knew that the Dark Lord was evil and the society they lived in was skewed and wrong.

He was careful not to attract attention. He admitted that it was partly because he was a coward. He was afraid to attract attention because he was horrified at the possible consequences of whatever form of rebellion. To keep his Gran and his friends safe, he made sure to stick to the rules.

It was good that most of the Death Eaters didn't bother to notice him, like he was a speck of dust on the wall. Bellatrix was another matter altogether. She likes to rub it in that he's serving the murderer of his parents.

To become the woman's personal errand boy was humiliating and degrading. He crammed all his hate inside, shut it with a firm lid and forced a smile when greeting the woman. Better smile than be tortured in the dungeons. Ever since meeting her, the woman showered him with treats, telling him how proud she was of him afterward. His skin crawls whenever Bellatrix decides to act motherly over him.

He knew it was a sick joke but sometimes he can't help but wonder if Bellatrix wanted to have a child of his own.

One good thing that came out of it was her fondness and protection. He was not touched or bullied in Hogwarts because no one wanted to face the wrath of Bellatrix. She'd probably kill anyone who attempts bully her errand boy. An exception to that rule was _Draco Malfoy_. Draco rarely associated with him, and Neville learned to keep away from the cold blooded male.

Overall, a lot of things changed, for the good and for the worse. He had less friends since he was only allowed to socialize with his kind, purebloods. Occasionally, he could speak with the members of the crown system, but they were a different kind. He was treated with respect for his blood status alone. Nobody trifles with a pureblood or they would feel the wrath of the entire administration. That doesn't mean that purebloods treated him any different. He was still an outcast, but that was fine. He was used to it.

A stronger part of him remained indignant and rebellious however. Even if he was supporting the regime by attending the meetings where students – purebloods – like him were required to swear oaths of allegiance to the Dark Lord, he remained indifferent to it and did not allow himself to be totally _brainwashed_, as Ron and Hermione put it.

He would never understand why he was able to put up with it. He hid his dissatisfaction quite well though, and most never questioned why he was so quiet. It was better if his peers didn't know of his real intentions. Oh, what threat could he put up when he was the useless clumsy Neville?

A part of him waited for an opportunity like this, and now that it was being presented to him, he only wanted to confirm whether or not it was worth it. If it meant that he would acquire his revenge...

When Dumbledore began speaking, Neville had to strain his ears to make sure that he heard. Dumbledore's vocal chords seemed highly damaged and it took a lot of effort for the wizard to speak. It occurred to him that they could use a charm to make Dumbledore's voice louder but Dumbledore sadly informed him that for the time being, the healers told him to avoid using magic of any kind.

As Dumbledore explained to him a few things that were left unclear by Hermione and Ron, and apologized that they had to use such means to get his attention, Neville found himself growing restless.

He looked at the fire then, avoiding the twinkling eyes that seemed to be all-knowing. "They mentioned a prophecy... what of it?" Neville waited. There was a grave sigh.

Dumbledore rubbed his forehead wearily and adjusted his half moon spectacles, "It was not only Harry who could have been hailed as the savior of the Wizarding World. Had he chosen you instead of Harry, you would have been the boy-who-lived. It is quite possible that it was you all along, Neville."

Neville felt his palm sweating and he had to wipe it on his robe.

"How sure are you?"

Neville turned around to look at the man. The lines and wrinkles have shown on Dumbledore's face and he wore a grave expression.

"I will show it to you..."

* * *

><p>The Dark Lord returned to his study and there, he was informed by one of his servants that Anthony was already taken to his chambers. He dismissed the servant and sat on his chair, his feet on the desk.<p>

Nagini clambered on his lap.

A grin plastered on his face, and he began stroking the head of his familiar while he contemplated, _"Nagini, have you ever spared your prey?"_

_"I have killed them all, and they are only spared if they get away... nasty little creatures…"_

"_I see."_

"_You spare your prey only when they are still useful," _Nagini hissed. She raised her head and flicked a tongue to taste the Dark Lord's skin. The Dark Lord distractedly nodded while Nagini settled on his shoulder, slinking around and coming to stop on his wrist. The snake bound him. The Dark Lord shook it off as something Nagini did when she was worried of him. She asked, "_You are hesitating?"_

_"And if I am?"_

She hissed in annoyance and immediately uncoiled from him. The Dark Lord pet Nagini more and the snake complained, _"I still do not see what you are so interested with that man-child. You are going soft... and you are not warm enough."_ The snake left him to curl in front of the hearth. The Dark Lord noted that his horcruxes seemed to hate him as time grew by.

Voldemort thought that he was only being paranoid. Horcruxes were meant to be subservient to the creator. They shouldn't have _free_ will. The journals that'd he'd read about it weren't forthcoming however, and if he knew enough about soul magic, he knew that it was volatile and it required a lot of study. It was certainly difficult to understand a complicated situation such as his, a man who split his souls into seven parts.

One of which resided in Harry.

Why was he so obsessed with the child? He did not fully understand it himself. The best that could describe it was the pull of their souls. He already proved that Harry was his _horcrux_, a unique horcrux among all others, but he did not feel the same attraction to Nagini or any of his younger selves – '_Merlin forbid'_, he thought. The pull between Harry and him was different. When the child was a first year, he did not feel it, but upon joining with Tom, he began feeling the insatiable desire and curiosity for the child.

He wanted to explore their connection once the boy was out of the diary. Soon. It was unnatural, and he wanted to understand and control it.

Speaking of the diary, it was lying innocently on his desk. He could feel its magic. Within its pages, his other self was with Harry. His eyes darkened with rage at the remembrance of what happened that afternoon. He stroked it and wondered if he could activate the charms that would allow him to go inside. If he wanted to, he could. He could rip off the Diary's protections and render it impossible for his soul to ever intervene with him and Harry, but it would be detrimental to his plans. He did not want to kill his own soul, did he?

...and Harry would soon leave the confines of the diary so there was no need to dismantle it. If he did, he'd run the risk of killing Harry as well.

He could try, however, and with that on mind, he began opening the Diary with his magic, willing the protections null but not really expecting it to give in. A flash of light engulfed him and the Dark Lord was surprised that the Diary allowed him passage.

"What are you doing here?" someone groaned out. It was quiet enough to hear the all too faint sound. Voldemort looked at the source of the voice and a frown marred his features.

"Are you not overjoyed to see me?" Voldemort asked. Harry was tight lipped before saying, "Why should I be happy to see a liar?"

Harry was laid on the bed, a dark forest green similar to those found in the Slytherin dorms. 'How _trite_'_, _Voldemort thought_. _The covers were bunched up on the child's chin and Harry regarded him with an accusing stare. His other self was opposite the child. The floor was checkered black, and all around them was darkness.

"You revealed the truth," the Dark Lord pointed out the obvious. He did not notice the disappointment coming from his own voice. Voldemort did not waste time and sat himself beside the weak looking child.

"He had to know. Harry needs someone to protect him. I don't want him to break... _just for your sick pleasure_," Thomas remarked. Harry heard it and wondered if the torture he endured under Thomas's hands was their definition of 'protection'.

"Harry-"

"Don't touch me... stay away," Harry said, and closed his eyes. The world flickered before Thomas said, "Harry," a warning tone.

Harry reluctantly obeyed, knowing that it was for his own good as well. His little tantrums turned him sick, and any more, he would have to see the darkness again. He did not want that.

"What did you do to him?" Voldemort asked.

The horcrux laughed and said, "Concerned? And here I thought you'd like to break him..."

To this, the Dark Lord said, "Is it not a good practice for an owner to know what has become of his possession after lending it to someone like you?"

Harry growled. The child was adorable, trying to be threatening when he was anything but. Voldemort reached out to pet the child again, and Harry slapped it away.

The horcrux chuckled, "And why lend him to me in the first place? But don't worry. Our little Harry is just exhausted. "

"This is stupid. Thomas, kick him out. You promised," Harry groaned, closing his eyes. "This is not 'stupid' as you ineloquently put it. And why do you assume I'll grant your order? As far as I know, I'm not breaking any _promises_ since I never made one_,_" Thomas countered.

Harry looked at him weakly, and spat out, "I hate you both."

Voldemort tilted Harry's chin, so he could look at the hate filled eyes. He despised how the diary world was robbed of color. He missed staring at the boy's green eyes.

He was transfixed at where his fingers met the child's chin. To touch the child was electrifying. It was not magic, it was just – a sense of completeness. A part of him wanted the child to look at him with complete adoration. The other half wanted to see the child bleed. Harry pulled away but he held the chin steady.

"It would worry me if you did not hate us, Harry, although, I prefer if you didn't hate me. Is it true? How can you hate your only friend?"

Harry could see it, _Tom_. The _traitor. _Harry lunged at him. He was able to beat his fist against the Dark Lord's chest but that was it.

In the end, Harry only succeeded to land himself on the Dark Lord's arms. The child struggled, but froze when Voldemort began to pat his head. Another hand stroked the boy's spine.

"S-stop it," Harry whispered. He was extremely tired.

"Why is he so weak? You've already drained one of my servants dry…" Voldemort noticed how Harry was reluctantly relaxing. He _remembers._

Harry blamed it on his body. It was a natural reaction. He would love to run away from the two if he wasn't so damned _tired._

Thomas offered to explain and began, "The diary was never meant to store other souls... It originally contained only a fragment of ours. Harry requires twice the amount of magic, and with me draining him, it is understandable he'd soon tire without feeding."

"_Bastard, you didn't tell me that._" Harry hissed in parseltongue. Voldemort chuckled.

"Anthony gave Harry the required amount of magic to conjure this world, but to sustain it takes a large amount of magic from our reserves. Harry and I got carried away with the Diary's functions, and the magic sustaining this place is the last of it. Remember, we built this diary in such a way that the soul within could not use magic, else Tom could have come out of the Diary of his own volition. Basic magical theory suggests that magical cores are tied to physical bodies, as is the case with this," Thomas bitterly reminded the last part.

_They were only souls_

Harry protested when the Dark Lord kissed his cheek.

Thomas knew the Dark Lord was absorbed with the child as he was and it was hard to continue explaining while it seemed like he was being ignored. "I could easily plunge this world to darkness to conserve the magic. I've tried, but Harry hated it. It was terribly amusing to see how hysterical Harry was when I brought him back. Unless you're willing to transfer some of your magic, Harry will have to stay like that. In all honesty, I prefer him docile…" Thomas said. The man sat next to the twelve-year-old and when he touched the boy's skin, Harry flinched.

"…and weak. Scared? Harry, you should be," Thomas murmured quietly while he caressed the child's cheek.

Thomas grinned. He shared a look with his counterpart and it seemed they have come into an agreement.

Harry panicked when he could see the world dim. The child whimpered and when both of the sadists chuckled, he began to hate it more. "I know... I know what you want from me. I also know that I don't have a choice. But... don't... just stop touching me. Not now."

Voldemort laid the child back on the bed. He said, "It is not necessary to think, little one. You only have to be my pet-"

"No! Never... I'll never be degraded to something as low as your pet. You have slaves for that and nmphh-" The Dark lord cut the boy's speech by kissing him. Harry's lips were so soft and inviting. Harry tried to push the Dark Lord away but Thomas took both of his hands. The man began kissing his wrists.

Voldemort grinned at the flustered face. Harry's virginity was crucial to the ritual, however while they were in the Diary, it was another matter. What he would be fucking was just Harry's soul not his physical body.

"You were saying?"

Harry struggled when he felt something tear. The bastard tore his clothes and it was humiliating to be naked before two fully clothed men.

The feel of skin against his. It was new. It was horrifying. He closed his eyes.

"I don't want to be your pet." Harry said, but his voice was wavering. His lips were quivering.

Voldemort brought cupped the child's face and continued huskily, "Really, then would you rather be a toy? A slave? My little catamite?... How difficult could it be to become my pet, Harry? I would keep you safe, and grant you my affection. All you'd have to do is love me, become a good little boy. Isn't that an easy life?" Voldemort licked the boy's neck and Thomas caressed Harry's cheeks, he mouthed words that Harry wanted to absolutely ignore, but he knew the consequences. He knew what he wanted, and so he was prepared for the worst.

"No. None of those. I..." Harry felt his throat close up. Thomas whispered next his ear, "Say it."

Voldemort was interested in what Harry had to say. "Freedom."

Voldemort laughed. It was harsh and cruel. It grated Harry's ears. "No matter how much you beg… whatever it is that you offer to me, I will never… grant you your _freedom._" The Dark Lord hissed the word _freedom_. The Dark Lord leered, "For that alone, I'd have to punish you." Harry trembled, and he stared at Voldemort. Harry realized how he truly despised the man.

"Do you know how many would kill to be in your shoes?" Voldemort smiled, and traced Harry's skin. Soft, untouched, his.

"If I could kill myself, I will," Harry promised. He then spit on the Dark Lord. "_I said stop touching me,"_ Harry ordered in parseltongue. The Dark Lord wiped the spit of his face and it was all the warning Harry got when in an instant, hands were around his neck, choking him. The Dark Lord straddled him to keep him from kicking and moving away. Thomas clicked his tongue.

"I should rip your tongue out like what I do with my slaves. Nothing good comes out of it. Well, should I, Harry?" He shook the boy, and Harry was disoriented and his throat _hurt_ but he still struggled.

The dark lord was incensed and pressed harder until Harry stopped fighting. The child lay limp on the bed and glassy eyes stared back at him. The Dark Lord felt an unfamiliar tug of disquiet. Would he feel worse if he truly killed the child? Probably.

Souls could never really be killed, the Dark Lord reminded himself, and after a few seconds, Harry gasped and began choking. _Alive._ Voldemort let go and Harry started coughing. The beginning of tears could be seen on the boy's eyes.

"Death will be a mercy, child. I own everything. Your soul, your mind, your body. You are _mine._"

Harry struggled out of the grip but Voldemort pressed him down. "We will have so much fun together, you and I."

"You monster," Harry cried out when a finger forcefully entered him. "N-no. Stop."

Thomas kissed his forehead and maneuvered the child on his lap. "Shh, Harry. It's alright. This will all be over soon."

Voldemort thrust another finger, and he watched as the boy recoiled from it. "It hurts. S-stop damn it... Hurts-"

Harry screamed when the Dark Lord began biting his thigh.

"Please…"

Voldemort took out his fingers and brought it to the child's lips. "Lick."

Harry opened his mouth and took the fingers in. Thomas praised him and patted his hair. "Good boy, you're learning."

The Dark Lord took in the delectable sight of the child licking his fingers. The mouth was warm, and the tongue circled it in ways that aroused him in ways no one was able to. The little minx took his time and when it was done, he could not resist stealing another a kiss from those lips.

Harry was panting and delirious with his disorientation. He could hardly see a thing with tears blocking his vision. The constant kisses left him light headed.

_Was this what Tom meant with breaking him? _No it was something else. Something worse.

Harry couldn't take what he was seeing, and the boy closed his eyes when the Dark Lord spread him with three fingers. Voldemort looked for the bundle of nerves that would make his little minx cry out with pleasure and soon found it.

Harry tossed his head back, a loud moan coming out from his mouth. Voldemort rubbed against it again and again, loving how the child's toes curled out with pleasure. He took hold of the boy's cock and stroked it, wondering how long it would take for the boy to orgasm.

"It must be nice to have my fingers up your ass, Harry. I killed your parents with the same fingers. And with these fingers, I'm going to make you moan and scream and beg. With this alone..."

Harry could feel it, a steady building pressure. He tossed his head from side to side, not wanting to hear what Thomas had to say, just – feeling. He could feel it, the flexing of the Dark Lord's fingers and the alternating strokes of the hand as it went up and down, faster, and slower.

He cried, and he did not know what he was crying for. It was too much. So _good_.

Harry mumbled something unintelligible and cried out for him to stop. It had the opposite effect. Soon enough, the Dark Lord watched as the body stilled, and spasmed. In the middle of the child's orgasm, the Dark Lord simply parted his robe, and spread Harry's legs wide. Voldemort pushed in, and relished the feel of a familiar heat. Harry croaked out a no, and tried to shut his legs but Voldemort held it steady. Thomas kissed him to swallow his screams.

He seemed to be the only white thing on the bed. The dark Lord's robe spread across the duvet, and he felt like he was being swallowed by it – darkness. "S-stop. Please. God."

"Calling me your god? How fitting."

Harry was lost in the sensations of the hands, those hands that wandered and pinched and caressed and made him feel so good. The tongue that lathered and licked every part of him, _too much_. He felt so hot. It was painfully wonderful. _It was great_. He didn't know if he was moaning because it felt so _good_ or if it hurt in more ways than one.

For Harry it was torturous. For each slap of the flesh that violated him, his humiliation grew. This _can't_ be real, but what was real? It _hurt_ so it must be real. He could _feel_ so it must be real. Voldemort was fucking him. The murderer was raping him and Thomas let it happen.

"Ah. Ah. Ahhh... mnpph!" Thomas kissed him. "No one will hear you here… so moan for us a little louder, Harry."

Could he endure it if the Dark Lord had to do this over and over again? He should. But can he? Right now, Harry wasn't sure. Right now he wanted the man to stop. Right now he wanted to go somewhere... safe.

But where?

It used to be Tom.

_Tom._

"I will never give you freedom. Accept it, Harry." The following words were punctuated with a thrust each, "You. Are. Mine."

The dark Lord brushed his hair back and went back to thrusting in and out. Harry couldn't take comfort with the lies that Thomas was spewing in his ear. He can't fight it. He was turned around abruptly and his face was pressed against the pillow.

"Kneel, and spread your knees wide."

Harry did not obey as fast, and the dark lord did it for him. Harry cried out when the cock went deeper inside him. It shouldn't have been able to fit in the first place. It _hurt_.

"I won't ask... for freedom again... please... n-no more.," Harry closed his eyes, whimpering when the Dark Lord dug his nails on his hips.

"Call me your master."

"No."

Thomas sighed, "Listen to him, Harry. It's just a word."

"M-master."

The Dark Lord smiled, and thrust hard. Harry was ashamed to find out that even through the pain, his body was still reacting. "Master... _it feels...so good_," He couldn't stop himself. He just lost his mind. Thomas trailed his hand lazily on the child's back, and began kissing the skin.

Thomas pulled him up with his chin, and Harry ended up weakly supporting his weight with both of his hands on the bed. Harry felt like an animal for being used like that.

Voldemort was spewing obscenities and Thomas was kissing him again. He was crying. He didn't want this. Thomas wiped his tears and petted his hair.

It continued, and Thomas attempted to comfort him, telling him that it would soon be _over_ but it just seemed to go on. "_Thomas… help me."_

_Delirious._

"_I'm here, Harry."_

For a moment he lost his breath when a **terrible**_wonderful_ feeling came over him again. Harry thought he was rendered blind, and he saw white enter his vision, and it took some time to realize that he came again. Thomas was petting his hair. Kissing his forehead, his eyelid, his nose, his mouth.

Would anyone hate him for giving up?

Thomas whispered next to his ear, "Remember your promise."

Harry panicked when Thomas left him. He tried to reach out but the dark Lord thrust against him for good measure, to remind him that he can't. The Dark Lord continued thrusting in and out, not minding that Harry was already sobbing hard.

Harry thought that Thomas seemed disappointed with him, and he didn't want to see how much of a failure he really was.

He felt dirty. Harry's hands gave out and his face landed on the bed. It was rocking steadily.

The grip on his thighs dug harder and Harry let out a small whimper when he felt something warm fill him up. The Dark Lord pulled out and rubbed himself against him.

Harry felt sticky, wet. Tired. Afraid.

Harry sniffed and tried to calm down. He could only stifle his voice.

He wanted to disappear.

The Dark Lord fell next to him as he grunted. "Mine."

The child curled into a ball. If Harry cared to look, he'd notice that the Dark Lord's gaze softened.

"Harry, do you really want freedom that much?"

The child nodded, unable to speak. Voldemort traced Harry's cheek, and the boy stared at him. Harry understood one thing, Thomas was wrong when he said he should continue _fighting _the Dark Lord. Sometimes, it was much easier to give in. And he desperately needed to be comforted.

So he leaned against the hand, watching how the Dark Lord seemed very pleased with this. "_Rest._"

Harry closed his eyes, swallowing all his hate, and said, "_Yes, master."_

Voldemort pulled the blankets over the shivering child. Harry fell asleep soon enough.

"That was cruel of you," his other self remarked.

"You consented to it." Voldemort replied. He traced the child's lips and watched the weak child inhale and exhale with some difficulty. The bruises healed and Voldemort watched as Thomas made sure the child was once again, _unsoiled._

He didn't understand why he allowed several human flaws in the Diary, but thought himself a genius for doing so. By allowing the victims and himself to feel, it gave a sense of reality to the world.

The child was intoxicating even when asleep. He agreed with Thomas that Harry was better, docile.

He pulled Thomas to him with the man's Slytherin tie. How utterly _pathetic_. Did his other self long to be Tom so much that he would attempt to dress like their younger self? Thomas ended up kneeling on the floor.

"What lies have you fed him?" the Dark Lord hissed. Thomas chuckled and shook his head. "I've told him nothing but the truth. The child is unbearably stubborn. He hates us. He even promised me that he would kill you. I don't know how he's going to accomplish that, but since you're adamant to have him as your pet, then we'll see sometime soon won't we?" Thomas said and began laughing.

The Dark Lord tossed him away and wondered why Thomas stayed on the ground. The man was disappearing through the floor, taunting him.

Breathlessly, Thomas continued, "Is it not frightening, how he draws us both like a moth to a flame?" Thomas plunged the world in Darkness, and the Dark Lord was disturbed at the silence. He could understand how terrible it must be for his little pet to have spent so much time in the Darkness that he grew afraid of it.

_**Perhaps, you can be convinced, my Lord,**_

_**I have another idea regarding this child.**_

_**Please consider it.**_

The Dark Lord was interested, and he said, "Very well, enlighten me."


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **I apologize for any of the grammar, spelling errors you'll notice. In fact, I'd appreciate if you point them out. I've sent the chapter to my beta, but since I wanted to update soon, I decided to post it as it is (Sorry Xelena-chan. Hope you forgive me T_T). One day, I'll really take my time to revise everything and give a semblance of order to it but that's going to be in the far far future. This... chapter killed me. It refused to write itself and I think I worked on it for two days. Later on, I wont have time to update, but it's getting to the part where I want to seriously start writing :3.

Now, to answer anonymous reviews:

**Sasha** - I think I mentioned it on one of my author's notes. The Diary horcrux is alive. Tom Riddle (Diary horcrux) and Voldemort (oldest soul piece), is now in one body. They've melded their consciousness into one so the Voldemort that we have is a mix between Tom's teenage self and his older self. On the other hand, Thomas is the horcrux inside Harry. So that makes 2 of them, not 3. I hope that clears everything out. Thanks for the review~

And thanks to **Bee, g, leslieW, polarbear, oo, Astyan Cyannis, RuX, and Freya.** I never got to thank you people in person~ I always reply to reviews when I can. Reviews make me happy.

I just I wish I wasn't so hyper. Thanks for all those who reviewed the past chapter. Sorry for the delay. And I hope you enjoy this **_9000_** words. I give up on setting a short word count limit per chapter.

Musical inspiration: yuki kajiura, kalafina and hitomi kuroishi.

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><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 7**

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><p>The Dark Lord was beyond pleased.<p>

What his other self suggested merited consideration.

The child had power. Harry did not know how much power he actually he held. It was certainly better to keep him ignorant of it.

As an example, In the old Wizengamot, the child held a seat even if it was unknown to him. If Harry was emancipated (and he had legal grounds to emancipate himself after all), the child could have taken the seat. In the present high court, on grounds of being the only remaining Potter heir, he will still have the power and the right to do so. The new Wizengamot would not deny him that right as long as he proves he's capable.

Pureblood families like the Malfoy family and the Black family had intermarriages within the Potter family so it was not entirely true that Harry did not have connections within the wizarding world. In fact, the Potters have a lot of self managing businesses both within the magical and non-magical world. Potter fortunes stretched across the continent and the Dark Lord won't be surprised if the child owned villas or castles somewhere around the world. Potters were old, and their roots could be traced to the Peverells and it was rumored, the Gryffindor line.

He supposed one day, he should take the child to the goblins to examine his pet's lineage.

The other power that Harry had was his sway over the masses. The Dark Lord surmised that Harry's eventual return would be met with outrage and relief. The Rebels would demand for his _freedom_ but once they get it into their heads that Harry was a willing participant of his empire, it would work to his advantage. He will use the child for political gain. If Harry was willing to cooperate with him, the child would certainly improve the moral of his army and dishearten the rebels from their useless attempts in fighting his rule.

He was willing to give the child a little freedom if the child would pledge his loyalty to him. The child's loyalty would also deal with the prophecy. His other self told him several creative ways, of using the child and he agreed that he couldn't waste the potential.

He will bind the child to him, and he had every intention of doing so.

It did not matter if Harry hates him for it. He already did. He doubted if it would change over time.

He will mold the boy into something against his nature. The Dark Lord smiled at the thought of nurturing another monster. He wondered how chiseled the child's heart could grow during his care. He would enjoy teaching the child if that was what his other self desired. He'll take the child apart, study the tiny miniscule pieces that made up his Harry, and put it back the way he wanted to.

The time that Harry would willingly kneel before him and surrender will not come soon, that he was sure of. Harry wasn't willing to pay the price. Right now the child was in a stage of denial. He knows the child is docile but under that act was a brimming rebellion. He supposed normal methods won't work on the self-sacrificing child. For now, he could enjoy the boy's company as his pet and his beloved little Toy.

There were several things that he could barter on, and he knew that eventually the child would be entirely willing to serve him. The Dark Lord could always use something underhanded, such as mind-altering potions. Those things were effective but they took time. What more, it would be torture for his potion master to brew them for the child. It was a tempting idea.

For Harry however, he would rather not cheat. He loved a good challenge. Harry would serve him on his own volition. He could not risk Severus to rebel again over such a trivial thing.

The Dark Lord stared at the empty throne room and considered Severus. He was a waste, a real disappointing waste. He did not like to think he wasted his precious time investing on Severus so Severus will always be an exception; he was willing to give him _another_ chance.

…and Harry might be able to talk some sense on his delusional follower. The Dark Lord mentally nodded and paused in his thoughts when Lucius and Severus entered the throne room.

"My Lord," Lucius greeted. Severus trembled next to him.

Severus accepted the offer. Unsurprising. Voldemort was glad that the man spared them the time and effort it took to find another potion master.

The man was a genius. The Dark Lord grudgingly admitted that while he was knowledgeable in Potion making, Severus had a special affinity for it. His ability to create effective potions made him invaluable. He was invaluable enough that the Dark Lord would rather have the man dead than have him working for another master. And even if he was competent in potion brewing, it was hardly his place to fill in. He found potion brewing a menial task when others could do it for him.

Severus had to stay.

The traitor also made a convenient victim for his inner circle. Perhaps they were getting tired of Peter Petrigrew's sniveling and wanted someone who was normally untouchable to cry out in pain.

Severus was free game once Lucius secured the man's acquiescence for the deal. Lucius made the small mistake of leaving the man with excited Inner Circle death eaters who just wanted to play. First it was Carrow then he called for his sister, Alecto. Others soon found out about it, and took turns cursing the man.

It was a close call too. He was livid when he found out that Bellatrix disobeyed his orders and joined the torture session when it was expressly said that she was not allowed to participate.

But no matter. Severus still had his mind and body intact. That was good enough.

He was surprised that the traitor was still able to walk after the torture session. Severus owed it to his blonde friend. Lucius interfered when things got out of hand and did not hesitate to call for his attention.

It was past 9 then, and he was in the middle of conversing with the Diary. Lucius activated the mark and requested his immediate presence. He was surprised that the rest of his inner circle followers were gathered in the torture chambers where he left Severus. He only allowed Carrow, but it turned out that the rest couldn't resist the temptation of macerating dear old Snape's pride, or his body in another sense. Normally, his followers could not stand each other's presence but they came into a unanimous agreement when it came to _play time._

Severus should be grateful to have such a considerate friend, Voldemort mused.

The Dark Lord began orienting Lucius of his role.

He briefed Lucius of what the ritual would entail.

"For the past two years, I've trapped the child's soul in a non-living vessel. It would be tricky to put it back to where it once belonged. The ritual's aim is simple. It will ensure that the soul of that child will not latch on to a random object or entity. It's not as simple as extracting souls for samhain. This time, we must direct the soul to a host,"

The Dark Lord took out a few pieces of parchment, "Read this carefully."

The likelihood of their success was high since the air was saturated with magic from the soul offerings. It helped that his horcrux was already familiar with soul transferals so his presence would smooth the complicated process.

The worst that could happen was for Harry's body to reject his soul, but it could be remedied by something simple, although… a permanent solution would take time.

Lily's sacrifice for his son could not be easily removed. The protection still exists for the physical body and since Harry has bonded with his soul, it would not surprise him if the child would find the whole process painful. He could imagine it, the body would reject Harry's soul to the point that it would cease to function and at the same time, destroy the child's _dark_ soul.

It was one nasty piece of ancient magic.

If he saturated the body with his magic however, he might be able to delay it. It occurred to him that he could create a body from scratch, but the idea did not sit well with him. Instinct told him, the idea would only create more problems in the future... A little pain would not hurt.

He felt the same excruciating pain when his soul was wretched out from his body forcibly by the deflected Avada Kedavra. The boy would now know of a part of his pain.

He leaned back on his throne and flexed his fingers and motioned for both of his followers to rise.

Severus trembled. It would take a trained eye to see how tired the potion master really was. Up to now, the man was clinging to his dignity, trying to avoid leaning on Lucius who mercifully allowed the man to act like his independent stubborn self.

The door opened and a woman was unceremoniously tossed to the floor. Really now, touching the woman wasn't that disgusting. He found the prisoner quite pretty too, if one would take away the grime, matted hair and bruised body.

He beckoned and Lucius watched how the woman crawled and the chains on his neck dragged along the ground noisily. Voldemort waved a hand and Lucius began to explain the woman's brief role for the ritual.

"If you do this, I will be willing let you go and have you pardoned of your crimes," the Dark Lord offered, and the desperate woman nodded.

The Dark Lord stood up and pulled the woman to her feet. "I require your silence once you've been granted freedom."

The enthusiastic bobbing of her head reminded the Dark Lord of a dog.

"Consider it a reward for your compliance," the Dark Lord said. He frowned in distaste. A quick scourgify removed the blood and grime on the woman's dress and her pitiful body. With another gesture, he had the woman stand. The Dark Lord mentally added, '_A small reward for renting your body and keeping my lowly followers entertained,' _he paused and figured something familiar now that the woman was a little cleaner looking.

"Can you still speak?" The Dark Lord asked, not that it truly mattered.

The woman croaked out a small, "Y-yes."

Ah, the Dark Lord finally remembered where he saw the woman. She was one of the rebels who pointed out Dumbledore's location after the first few hours of torture. She looked decent then. He supposed the dungeons weren't as accommodating.

Confunding her was easy to do, and in seconds of staring at his eyes, the Dark Lord had another loyal servant.

They went underground and walked in companionable silence. Lucius at the back, wand trained on Severus who was staring at his feet as if it was the most interesting thing.

No doubt the potion master was still in shock. For being such an accomplished occlumens, when faced with the entirety of the Inner Circle's wrath, the man was bound to crack.

The Dark Lord still reserved a special fondness for his handpicked child. The abomination between a muggle and a wizard... a half blood. The Dark Lord took one look at the rough jewel, saw it was pretty, and decided to liberate it from what inhibits its brilliance. He took care of the father, and taught Severus how to lose himself in the dark, how to find pleasure in _power_.

He taught Severus how to survive and survive he did. Voldemort gave a mental sigh. He must take care not to commit the same mistake with his other followers. They might grow soft and sprout ugly feathers. No. He preferred if they all stayed within a common ground. It was always easier to manipulate them to his liking when they weren't bothered by "morals".

The underground was cold. Their footsteps echoed and doors passed them, enticing in what secrets it held.

Behind him, the woman followed obediently.

At the bottom of the stairs, they came to a pause. Severus eyed the door as if it housed the most insidious thing he'd ever seen, his mouth cringing when it opened.

Lucius pushed Severus in, and the man let out a small grunt of pain.

No words were uttered and everyone was occupied with their own thoughts.

They descended to the shrine and it was evident that the woman marveled at the architecture. She took everything with her wide eyes and praised him for his genius.

The door closed and the four approached the platform where the child was entombed. Lucius motioned for Severus to stay near the pillar. The man grudgingly complied and leaned tiredly against it.

The Dark Lord took out a black diary and gave it to the female prisoner.

"Let us begin."

Removing the wards took some time, and in half an hour he managed to remove the final protection charms that would hinder the ritual. In all honesty, it would be easy enough to grab Harry's soul from the diary and just force it into the body, but doing so might damage Harry mentally, or fracture his soul, and perhaps the other soul that came with it.

He decided to take the necessary precautions and ensure that he had more control. It would not do good to be rash with things concerning Harry; it just wasn't.

The glass crypt crumbled in a shower of dust. Part of the numerous protections was now taken off. Now the Dark Lord stared at the runes that were scattered on the floor. He would have to change some of them to suit his needs.

First, he inscribed Elhak runes for protection, Berkano, the rune of the Birch. Berkano symbolized one of the greater goddesses and she encouraged rebirth and life, in which the placement ensured that it will not war with Kenaz, Isa and Laguz, runic elements of similar nature. A lone Sowilo rune ensured that there is a balance between the runes of _life_ for too much of it might bring some unwanted consequences. Next, Othala was inscribed, to increase the potency of the runes and Mannaz, one of the ancient runes for _man_ for Harry needed to be tied to his _mortal humanity_ still.

The steel frame of the glass crypt was finally destroyed and they were left with nothing but the floor with several runes, the pentagram and a wide circle that was inscribed within the square marble platform of the shrine.

Lucius stripped the child of his garments, and their female companion was quick to hand Lucius a sacrificial white robe. Once they've dressed the child, Lucius asked, "My Lord, where should I place him?"

A finger pointed on the center of the carved pentagram. The Dark Lord motioned for Lucius to step away from the pentagram and for the woman to sit before the child. "I do not want your skin touching the lines of the pentagram. Sit still and do not make any noise," a charm removed the woman's clothing and she sat naked, and was quite perturbed.

With a wand, the Dark Lord began etching additional runes to the circle, countering the preservation charms into the ones necessary for the soul transferal ritual.

Severus looked sick at the proceedings knowing how it would end.

Lucius put five candles on each point of the star, chanting in Latin, and the circle that surrounded the pentagram pulsed. A swirl of red lit up the inscribed runes and it blazed before disappearing quietly. The candles drew the shadows of the room and suddenly the shrine room was plunged in darkness.

The only light came from the five candles.

The child was like a doll, clothed in nothing but a white garb. He looked so out of place within the chamber. So pure and untainted. The Dark Lord almost felt pity for what he was about to do. _Almost._

At the stroke of midnight, it began.

The Dark Lord chanted in Latin, and Lucius followed with him. At every word, flames flickered. When the Latin chant was finished, the Dark Lord began in ancient gaelic. Both Lucius and Severus shivered when they felt the Dark Lord's magic fill up the room.

Lucius was still chanting in Latin, and when he finished, Lucius felt an abrupt pull. It felt like something grabbed him from bellow and he fell. The feeling of an endless weight pulling him down disoriented him. Lucius collapsed to the floor. The Dark Lord seemed unaffected.

Voldemort turned to him and held out a hand, expecting something. Lucius stood up and gave the Dark Lord a silver dagger.

The Dark Lord held the handle of the dagger with his left hand and let the tip of the dagger fall against the center of his right hand's palm. When he let go of his left hand, the dagger was left standing upright and it began to twist on the Dark Lord's right hand. There were small droplets of blood, and when the first drop of blood touched the floor, the Dark Lord took the dagger with his left hand and called out with his magic.

Dark Lord's right hand flowed with grace, making the process look entirely uncomplicated. The Dagger stayed on the Dark Lord's left hand. It glinted, reflecting the candle's fire.

One mistake would bring them back to where they began, and Lucius's admiration grew when the Dark Lord confidently finished the second step of the ritual.

Finally, the Dark Lord spoke in parsel. The almost unworldly quiet that it brought made everyone in the room vibrate with an equally silent anticipation.

"_**I call you out from your sleep."**_

The woman didn't see it coming.

The Dark Lord pulled the woman's head backward and his knife efficiently drew across the exposed neck. Blood sprayed on the ritual circle. The hem of Harry's dress was slowly tainted in blood.

"_**I offer water. Unwillingly given, this blood will satisfy your thirst for what has been denied."**_

The body fell to the ground with a dull thud.

One of the candles was snuffed out of light.

"_**I offer air. It will grant you safe passage."**_

She expelled her last breath.

The Dark Lord watched as another candle died with the woman.

A gust of wind stirred within the shrine and a flame began to eat the carcass.

As the smell of burning meat filled their nostrils, the Dark Lord hissed the next incantation.

"_**I offer fire. This will cleanse you of your impurities."**_

The flame reduced the body into ashes. It mixed with the blood on the ground forming a black tar like substance. Another candle died.

"_**I offer earth. This will tie you to your flesh."**_

The Dark Lord closed his eyes briefly and pulled with his magic, willing his command to be heard and understood. The man smiled when the wind began to howl, and the last flame burned brightly.

Lucius shivered. The Dark Lord's magic was a growing tempest, and it called out to his magic, willing it to come to play, but he knew it was not his Lord's intention.

To hear his Lord speak in the ancient tongue of the serpents was always rewarding. Lucius took in the Dark Lord's perfection and silently vowed to make sure he would be one of those who would witness what the Dark Lord would bring to the world.

The Dark Lord's grin was terrifying when he hissed out the final incantations.

"_**I offer life. You will take it. Let all these elements bind you."**_

The last flame died.

The diary's pages fluttered. A hand moved to reach through and pulled. Whirls of white clouded by a dark miasma floated through the boy's mouth.

"_**Awaken.**_"

Harry's eyes opened. The acidic green opened to the world and it the eyelids refused to close for a long time.

Severus pushed himself up and crawled to the circle. "Is he... alive?"

Lucius dug the tip of his cane to the man's side. "Do you doubt our Lord's word?"

The child pushed himself up and inspected his body. The child's eyes looked around the room and it landed on the dark lord.

"Mas...ter?"

Severus blanched. '_Master? Why call him master? What exactly did you do to him?'_ Severus was stilled by a hand that kept him in place. Lucius warned Severus with a meaningful stare.

It seemed like the child was out of it. Harry experimentally opened and closed his hands and stared at it. He marveled at the color and crinkled his nose at the smell of... "Blood?"

Harry saw the blood that covered his dress. The eyes widened by a fraction. Harry seemed pleased at the numerous feelings that coursed through him. He didn't know that being alive was just so bloody wonderful. He once thought he hated being alive, but being able to feel the warmth of his own skin, and the cold of the floor. Being able to smell and feel the air, as subtle as it was. It was a blessing. Everything seemed so much sharper than usual, and Harry wondered if his eyesight was fixed while he was asleep. He wondered if his skin was over-sensitized.

"Child, where are your manners? Why don't you greet your elders?" the Dark Lord chastised the child. Harry blinked and tilted his head to the side. Voldemort watched his pet reacquaint himself with his surroundings.

Harry searched for the other people in the room. He squinted against the darkness trying to take in everything. His senses were overcome and he felt giddy by just being able to see even a glimmer of color.

Harry then took in the hulking form of a rather familiar man.

"P-professor Snape," Harry mumbled, surprised. Snape would always look like a boogie man to him. He was happy to see Snape, but surprised. It seemed like the man never changed. Why was Snape with them? A Death Eater? Instantly, Harry's hackles were raised.

But why would Dumbledore employ a Death Eater? Harry watched as a gloved finger touched the potion master's shoulder, and he followed the hand to its owner.

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry hissed.

"Be nice," the Dark Lord chastised the child.

"I see that he has yet to lose his animosity towards me," Lucius sneered, and Harry almost forgot who was with him, filled with a raw feeling of utter hatred. Harry was about to say something scathing when he heard the Dark Lord call his attention, "Harry, don't disappoint me. Behave."

Harry's glare turned to the floor.

"My Lord, you must tell me why the brat follows you so obediently. I am intrigued," Lucius came closer and the Dark Lord gave him a warning glance.

"Lucius, there will be time to satisfy your curiosities later," the Dark Lord warned and he turned to Severus, "As you can see, I fulfilled my end of the deal. I expect the fool's head by the end of the year."

Severus opened his mouth and closed it, not knowing if he could say anything without betraying his ire. Severus bowed, and said, "Yes, my Lord."

Severus wondered if he only aggravated the situation by agreeing to resurrect the child. _It seemed like_ the Dark Lord didn't care whether or not he fulfilled his end of the deal when it was obvious that he was planning to bring the Potter brat back to the living with or without his help.

He blamed the brat since he was a convenient scapegoat for all the mistakes that he did.

Lucius pulled Severus to his side when Severus refused to move from his place near the pillar. Severus cursed himself from the momentary lapse in emotion.

Harry was looking at him with those accusing eyes. _Lily's eyes._

The child began uncontrollably coughing. A tiny hand pressed against the child's chest. Severus watched how the child collapsed to the floor and called out for his _master_ but the Dark Lord's attention was elsewhere.

"...nothing less from you Lucius. Make sure the woman's family is properly compensated for her efforts. Leave us."

Lucius bowed and began ascending the stairs that led out of the shrine room, Severus with him. Severus resisted it weakly but Lucius only tightened his grip and murmured, "You will not risk your life after I've done what I could to preserve it." Severus gave up then, and took one last look at the Dark Lord embracing the unwilling child.

* * *

><p>Within the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, Neville, Ron and Hermione were conversing in one corner of the living room. It was four in the morning. She was only half done with the reports.<p>

"So have you decided, Neville?" Hermione asked while twirling the cup of coffee with one hand. On the other hand, she was reading through reports. Dumbledore talked to her awhile ago only to hand the clump of reports to her. If Ron knew how much paperwork her position included, Ron would stop being an envious git.

It was late, scratch that. They were way past bedtime but it's one of the perks of staying inside the headquarters. There were no annoying prefects that made sure they were sleeping properly and on time.

"The way your acting seems like you're not even interested, Hermione," Neville accused. It was quite surreal for Neville to sit with his _friends_ while planning a coup d'état. It was certainly not his usual cup of tea.

"No believe me, I'm all ears. It's just that, I won't be able to finish this if I don't read them now. I think some people are slacking off. How is reading about the suspicious lack of toiletries in our other safe-house any relevant to destroying the empire? It is customary for each member to write a report about any suspicious activity, but I hardly think every suspicious activity merits attention." Hermione tucked a piece of hair on her ear and chewed on the edge of the quill. Ron looked at her and pointed out that, "That thing might be dirty."

"Oh shut it Ron, these are clean," Hermione muttered. Ron looked flabbergasted with a look that screamed, "_Do I even want to know?"_ Hermione stopped herself from chewing the damned feathery thing and blamed pen caps, because back then she always chewed on them. It became a nasty habit.

"You should be pleased to know that the Dark Lord will be meeting up with the Russian minister later this month. We don't know the exact date but surely, the castle's security would be lax without the Dark Lord in it," Hermione grinned, and separated the report from the growing pile on the table.

There was one for the important, rubbish and those that were in between.

Ron hummed, and asked, "Won't the security be tighter without him around?"

Hermione shrugged, and moved on to say, "Part of the castle wards are tied to the Dark Lord. It's been proven. I've had Bill check it out, and he noticed that wards grow weaker without the Dark Lord's presence."

Ron scrunched his eyebrows and said, "You've met my brother and you didn't bother telling me?" Hermione grumbled, "Why are you so affected? It's not like it matters. He's cool."

Ron grimaced at the thought of Bill not because Bill was like Percy but because Bill was _dangerous._

Neville chuckled at their antics. It was like nothing changed, but then sitting before them was proof. Ron was a lot more withdrawn. It was like his friend grew emotionally inept after losing his sister and Harry. Hermione was a lot colder, but – now he could see that there was still a bit more _warmth_ between the two friends.

"So, the Dark Lord's castle is like Hogwarts then?" Neville offered, and Hermione smiled. "It's very similar to Hogwarts. They are both sentient creatures that depend on magic to survive. In Hogwart's case, it's the Headmaster's magic and less known, our magic. I've read it in _Hogwarts, a History_, that the constant use of magic fortifies the castle. Hogwarts does not leech off our magic but uses the magic we've wasted. Destructive magic, however, will always be an exception," Hermione's eyes lit up at the mention of the book.

"So, does that mean that if all of us abandon Hogwarts for a time, it will die?" Neville asked in morbid curiosity. He wondered how long the school would live on if there was no magic to support it.

"I have a theory that the castle will remain sentient even without us inhabiting it. Recently, we've learned how magic is connected to life. If perhaps, all form of life died within the mile radius of Hogwart's properties, then maybe the castle would lose its sentience. But you gave me a brilliant idea, Neville. If we can find how Hogwarts is being operated, we could recapture the castle and make it as one of our strongholds."

Ron spit out what he was eating. "Hermione, you and your crazy ideas."

"But I _am_ serious."

Ron tossed a peculiar looking mirror up and down and grabbed for another chocolate. Neville was offered again, and he took them. He played with it before putting the treat inside his mouth. Hermione began groaning on the end of her couch.

Hermione huffed and put the rest of the reports on the only remaining side of the table. Now there were four stacks of five inch thick reports. "We didn't really hear your answer Neville… So, are you with us?"

"I'm joining," Neville said, and it surprised him how easy it came out. He was still in denial about accepting such an out of this world request from the headmaster. It was just impossible to become _another_ Harry. He doubted he could deflect an Avada Kedavra and live. Ron grinned, "Welcome to the Order mate. Merlin knows we need some sane people around."

Hermione chuckled and sipped her coffee. It's been three hours since Hermione was sipping the bloody thing… If it was self replenishing, Neville knew it was certainly not healthy… but he'd like to think of Hermione as an entirely different kind of entity.

She was not human.

Neville chewed on the chocolate and sighed. Hermione went back to the last batch of reports and groaned.

"You think Dumbledore would let go of Neville and obliviate him if Neville said no?"

"No, Ron, Dumbledore wouldn't obliviate him," Hermione paused from her perusal of documents and put it down. She sighed and snatched the mirror from Ron's hands. "Hey, that's mine–" Ron quieted when Hermione leveled him with a glare.

"If you break this, there'd be hell to pay, so thanks, I'll keep it."

"Is he that desperate?"

Neville waited for Hermione's explanation and tried not to look at her friend's slipping night gown. They were all quite sleepy, Neville reminded.

"No… it was my idea, really. I didn't know it would lead to well… this. There are several students in Hogwarts that would love to join the revolutionary army. I even know some of our exiled classmates want to join too. Many people were against letting 'children' like us to join, but there's war. One way or another, we'll be involved. People die all the time, and face it, Hogwarts only cater to those who have _talent. _The Dark Lord is militarizing everything, and if we don't have this alternative, we should all just face it and be Death Eaters. Voldemort left us no other choice."

Ron flinched at the use of the name. It was quiet for awhile, and Hermione laughed, drinking her coffee again.

"Why are you so worried about me speaking his name? Voldemort's curse won't reach this safe house. We're buried so far underground that I could say his name over and over again, without him ever finding out. I know I don't want to join his empire and kiss his feet. I didn't sacrifice this much to become a bootlicker," Hermione gave a confident smile. Ron and Neville were reminded that Hermione was technically an orphan now. She lost a lot of things to stay in the wizarding world and she's been a lot stronger than both of them.

"So, Ron got in. I got in. You know Luna right? She's in. I'm planning to invite some other people soon… and maybe abduct some of the younger years to find out if not all of them are as brain-washed as we think they are," Hermione's papers were now forgotten on the table again.

_Kidnapping._ To hear Hermione casually say it was a bit terrifying. He shivered when he was reminded how Hermione was responsible for one of the deaths of his fellow students.

"My point is, you Neville, you're special. I'm not joking. Part of the reason why your magic functions so poorly is because of your wand. You didn't exactly get to choose one didn't you? Well, whether or not you wanted to, you would end up joining. Dumbledore is dead set on having you here. And it's true. We are quite desperate. We'd love to have every weapon we could get to fight. What we wanted to know is if you were forced or not."

Neville asked himself, and inspired by Hermione's speech, "I'm doing this mostly for myself. I thought I shouldn't waste this opportunity. It's not right to stand idle while people are dying and suffering while we're living comfortably in Hogwarts. You're right that V-Voldemort's ways in shaping the society is too much. I can't forget that he's the reason why my parents are dead, and why Harry is gone, and why we're forced to become soldiers so early on. I… I want to fight along with you." Hermione smiled brightly, "Fair enough. It'd be bad if we forced you into _that _role." Neville nodded in understanding. "How do you expect me to fulfill the task though? I can't be another Harry." Neville asked.

"I don't know yet, but we'll train you. To be honest, I'm just happy that you're a part of us now. It's a big burden to carry," Hermione yawned. She remembered how tempting it was to want to confide to her professors or to his other Crown members.

She was a mudblood, a revolutionary army General and the holder of the Crown. Those three things were big burdens to carry.

Being part of the crown was a double edged sword after all. She was respected, at the same time, she was ostracized. Many of the students have no idea how difficult it was to maintain the position. Prefects only answer to Professors, but seeing as the Crown was supposedly one of the next generation Inner Circle death eaters… it was quite difficult to keep up with the expectations and responsibilities that were handed out to them.

They were under direct command of the empire, and accepting the Crown meant that at any point that the Dark Lord required the students of Hogwarts to join the war, they would take command – and they will join the front lines.

That part, not one of her friends knew, but they probably suspected, what with so much power being given to her, Cedric, and Draco. It was truly one fucked up trinity. Draco held sway over the purebloods, she held sway over the muggleborns and half-bloods, while Cedric acted like an intermediary.

And being a General at her age, forced to plan missions and partake on several almost _criminal _excursions drained her.

Many times, she wanted to give up the Order because what the Dark Lord offered was… too tempting. But it was wrong. Her morals would never let her live it down.

A knock came and Sirius Black came in holding a letter. "Hey."

Neville still seriously found the man creepy.

"A raven delivered it. It has the Dark Lord's seal. For you, princess," the teasing went on deaf ears when Hermione considered how important the letter was. Hermione shuffled to make room for Sirius. Sirius noted absently that the dress was slipping off the girl's shoulders and adjusted it without thinking twice. Hermione blinked and blushed, muttering a small, _"_You didn't have to do that," and glaring at Ron and Neville for not telling her about the _dress._

"So, what does it say?" Sirius said cheerfully. The man was concerned. Hermione replied, "I haven't opened it yet. Stay put. For all we know, it might be another invitation for a public execution." Hermione shuddered when she thought of the handful of letters that invited her to witness executions of traitors and she politely declined each one of those.

Hermione knew the letter was scanned and didn't bother to scan for the usual tracking spells. She pressed a ring on her finger against the seal. The Dark Mark was recognized. The wax melted into paper, forming a greeting. It read...

**_Greetings to you, Hermione Jean Granger, Crown of Hogwarts._**

She opened the letter and stared at the note in quiet horror and fascination.

**_The King has requested your presence in his castle._**

**_This letter is portkey and it will be activated later this afternoon._**

**_Please dress appropriately for lunch and dinner._**

**_We will be expecting you__._**

**_-Signed-_**

**_Barty Crouch Junior_**

**_Chief Judge of the High Court of Wizarding Britain_**

**_Inner Circle Death Eater_**

"Well shit," Sirius said after taking it all in.

"Read it out loud, 'Mione," Ron said and Hermione read it out loud and Ron had a similar expression. Fuck. "Do you know why?" Sirius could be unbelievably optimistic and Hermione took comfort in the man's good spirits.

"It's practically an order. What are you going to do?" Ron waved his chocolate. Honestly, Hermione wondered why Ron never adapted the pureblood etiquette. They took a class that was named "Wizarding Etiquette," and there were several other classes that introduced Dance, Writing classes (she appreciated this class very much. Hogwarts never bothered with improving the student's writing), and lots of wizarding culture rich classes. It was a bit of a nightmare but it was necessary. It did well for Hermione, although, seeing how Ron never tried to learn because it was "an insult to being a _blood traitor"._

Hermione let go of the letter and put it on the table. The letter folded unto itself and transformed into a tightly woven bracelet. "This is convenient." Hermione marveled at the spellwork and knew she would have to ask how they made it. She took the bracelet in hand and twirled it around. It felt solid. If she didn't know it was made of paper, she would have mistaken it for something else. It was also pretty, if they only took out the Dark Mark insignia on its clasp.

"I'm going of course. Ron, I'll sleep now," Hermione turned to Sirius and prodded the man with a finger, "Don't tell them about this. I don't want them to overreact. I can handle this myself." She yawned and flashed a small smile for Neville, "Good night."

Ron sighed, and scratched his head. "I don't even know if she's excited or afraid."

Neville shuffled on his seat when Sirius clapped his hands together.

"What say you we get to know each other a little more?" The grin was slightly infectious. Neville swallowed his courage and replied, "Why not?"

Ron grumbled, "Don't encourage him."

* * *

><p>Harry cringed when he heard the door close. The coughing ceased and Harry knew that it was not the last of it. Something was distinctly wrong with him.<p>

The Dark Lord circled him, and Harry felt self-conscious. He hated the man and being in his presence was discomfiting. He was also slightly disturbed to see the hems of his dress soaked in blood. Without the presence of others, Harry quaked in fear.

He knew the Dark Lord wouldn't truly harm him, but he knew enough that one wrong move could kill him. He tried to play nice. It's what he's had years of training for. His situation with the Dark Lord was quite similar to how his abusive relatives treated him.

Similar, but he could not deny how different it was. He was clinging to anything that resembled his former life.

"Stand."

Harry set to the task of standing up. His knees felt weak. The sensation of using his dead feet, and legs and knees was like being prodded by a million of tiny needles. They weren't painful but he just couldn't feel anything from his waist down. Not wanting to disobey the Dark Lord, he only saw his legs collapsing under him. Harry huffed in frustration. _What? This is just fun. _He also succeeded getting the rest of his shirt wet with blood when his body tilted uselessly to the ground. He felt disgusted. The smell was beginning to make him nauseous.

Standing up seemed like a dream. Harry whined in a tiny voice and horror reflected in his eyes when he thought about not being able to walk again. He pushed himself to kneel, and brought both of his trembling hands in front. He hung his head low, and he was afraid to voice out that he couldn't stand.

Harry was caught off-guard when he felt a hand reach out for him. He had a distinct feeling of déjà vu. "Take it," it was a command.

Harry put his bloody hand on the Dark Lord and pulled it away abruptly, as if he was burned.

The electrifying sensation was weird... The Dark Lord clicked his tongue and forcefully pulled his hand. Harry gasped and closed his eyes. He blinked and found an arm enclosing him. His body was pressed flush against the Dark Lord.

"Do you feel that?"

Harry felt something distinct, like drinking water when he was really really thirsty – or shouting when he was angry. Satisfaction. Contentment. He did not believe the Dark Lord then but now he wasn't sure. It was certainly unnatural. He didn't know if he hated it.

"Let go," Harry murmured against the shirt. Harry was disturbed that he was feeling safe within the arms of his supposed tormentor.

"I will never let go, Harry. This feels nice doesn't it?"

Harry shook his head and was rewarded by nails digging on his arms. Harry winced, he hastily replied a "Yes master."

The Dark Lord was brimming with satisfaction.

For a small while, the Dark Lord was content having his hands filter against the child's hair. He tilted the child's head and stared at the acidic green eyes. A finger brushed the spot where the lightning bolt scar resided. The Dark Lord felt it pulse and smirked when the child shuddered.

Having the child wear his physical body was certainly better than the papery imitation of the child.

Harry grew uncomfortable at the silence. He then asked for something he'd been meaning to know, "Where... where is Thomas. He said he would come... He... h-he said..." Harry's breath hitched, and his hand pressed against his chest. His heart beat was fluctuating and he couldn't breathe properly. Was he panicking? No he wasn't, Harry was quite sure of that. He was coughing again, and it was worse.

"Harry, breathe," the Dark Lord's voice pierced through his being. The child began scratching through his chest. "_**What's wrong with me?**__"_ Harry hissed in parseltongue.

"I did not expect the body would really reject the former host," Voldemort silently observed, and he frowned. "And you're burning."

Harry shivered when he felt everything grow cold all of a sudden.

"You have your mother to blame for that. To think her protection will now eat you alive. She's a cruel mother, isn't she Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes and laid his head limp against the Dark Lord's chest. It came to him that he should be defending his mother's honor but he felt so tired, and sleepy. The Dark Lord's voice seemed so far away.

* * *

><p>Sunlight streamed through the cracks of the thick green curtains, beneath him, the softest of sheets. It was warm and comfortable. Harry tried to remember what happened. He then started uncomfortably coughing. He knew he was sick, and it was just bad. The child opened his eyes and he wiped his hand on his mouth. '<em>Blood...' <em>he figured. He blinked again and the sharp details and colors registered to him.

He was _out_.

But he wasn't happy. His body was aching, and he was spewing out blood for Merlin's sake.

"You certainly are a handful," the Dark Lord remarked. Harry felt the warm feeling again and tried to think nothing of it. He still felt nauseous. Harry felt something cool press against his lips. "Drink."

Harry wordlessly obeyed and he almost spit it out if not for fear of what the Dark Lord would do to him if he did.

"Now, that wasn't too hard was it?" Voldemort said, and put away the vial.

Harry groaned, and murmured that he wanted to sleep more.

"So childish. If you weren't sick, I would punish you for your cheek."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but closed it when mentally reminded that things were _different_ now. He was at the mercy of a murdering madman and he could hardly go out screaming for help. What more, he grudgingly acknowledged what was to the Dark Lord. A _pet._

He then took in the room. It reminded him of Hogwarts. The bed was fluffier and softer – covered by a black mattress with almost imperceptible dragons and chrysanthemums littering the entirety of it. The pillows were dark velvet green. From above there was a large chandelier. Couches lay around a small coffee table. A large fireplace was beside it. A dark green rug covered the floor. There was a small bookshelf where books were placed in order. Right next to it was a desk. There were no mirrors.

"Are you done?" there was a small hint of warning there. Harry didn't mean to ignore his _master_.

"Mn–" Harry found himself hacked with coughing. It lasted for quite awhile. His throat seemed like it was on fire and it didn't want to stop when he wanted it to stop. It was worse than being itchy because he was coughing out blood.

Tears involuntarily pricked his eyes and Harry hated how susceptible he was to getting sick. He hated the idea of being weak in front of Voldemort.

"It's painful isn't it, Harry?"

Harry nodded and grasped for the covers with a trembling hand. The longer he looked at the Dark Lord, the more he was reminded of Tom. Voldemort's eyes were red, and they weren't golden brown. He'd grown so used to being inside the diary that he assumed Tom's eyes were really golden brown. Now it occurred to him if it was possible for Tom to have naturally red eyes.

Harry felt compelled to stare, unable to look away. His thoughts were being read... like everything was bared. He felt naked.

He hastily looked away.

Voldemort took his cheek and made Harry look at him. A hand brushed against his collarbone and it trailed downwards, the loose white robe he was wearing pooled to his torso. Harry was alarmed.

"No–"

The Dark Lord hissed in warning and the palm of the Dark Lord's hand settled on his chest.

Harry felt something distinct, like magic flowing through it. It made him feel worse. Harry shivered and trembled. He didn't do anything. Why was Voldemort punishing him?

Harry whimpered. "M-master... it hurts. Please... stop…ngh…" and Harry meant it, when the magic seemed to touch a part of him that made everything _hurt. _It made breathing uncomfortably painful, and he thought the world faded to black in moments but he realized he closed his eyes from the twisted magic that touched him.

Harry arched on the bed and pushed against the hand that was on his chest. He let out an inhuman screech.

Pure unadulterated pain.

It felt like his skin was being peeled off him, and his eyes stabbed with needles. His body was being pulled apart, and then put back, over and over.

The Dark Lord put away his hand. Harry collapsed on the bed and now he was sobbing. He couldn't stop it, and kept saying how it hurt.

He was pulled into an embrace and a hand rubbed back and forth. The Dark Lord was pissed at Lily Potter. "It's done," Harry could only cry pitifully.

"Little one, I did not mean to hurt you... I am doing this for your own good. See? It does not hurt as much, doesn't it?" Voldemort said.

Harry nodded and was surprised that his coughing stopped. "Why… did you hurt me, master?_" _he whispered. Voldemort heard it, and smoothed the boy's cheeks, "You would have died, if I did not give you a part of my magic."

A vial was pressed to him and it tasted slightly metallic. A Blood replenishing potion.

"We need a permanent solution. Harry, dear. Do you think you can cast a successful Avada Kedavra?" The Dark Lord didn't know why he was miraculously expecting a _yes_ from Harry, but that was pushing it.

Harry shook his head.

"Of course not, you're still too pure to kill anyone at this point. Perhaps, Thomas will be willing to do it for you?"

The Dark Lord's eyes strayed on the other child who was kneeling next to the bed.

Harry shivered when he felt the Dark Lord's lips kiss his temple. "_**It's time he did something useful. Thomas, why don't you save us both the grief and cast it for Harry? After all, he is suffering because of you...**__"_

_**How hypocritical.**_

Harry felt as if he was falling. And when it stopped, he felt like everything was muted. He was still aware of everything, but he could not move or speak. It was like being manipulated - a doll.

"Of course, my Lord. Who do I have to kill?" Harry said.

Harry inwardly cringed. The presence reminded him of Thomas. It was Thomas. It had to be. But it was his body. He never felt so confused.

Voldemort pointed on the slave kneeling next to the bed.

"Harry, do you remember Anthony? Anthony, say hi to Harry."

Harry stared at the child who was littered with bruises and cuts. The teen was kneeling obediently next to the bed, but he knew enough… what happened… He was horrified to see how similar the teen looked like him.

The boy's voice was barely a whisper, "Hi Harry."

Harry stepped away from the Dark Lord and within his mind, the real Harry watched, unable to close his eyes as his body – _Thomas – _touched the child and Anthony's eyes drooped. The Dark Lord gave his yew wand to Thomas. Without a second thought, a green light flashed, "Avada Kedavra."

Trapped inside his mind, Harry screamed. Why.

When control was relinquished to him, Harry continued staring at the dead body and wondered if what he just saw was a joke. He was pulled to the Dark Lord's side.

"Harry, you think too much," The Dark Lord sighed, and put the child back to bed. The black door opened and a white clad servant bowed. Behind him there were two black clad servants. They dragged the dead body away from the room.

"b-but... he didn't have to die–"

Harry curled onto himself and burrowed his head under the covers. The Dark Lord muttered to his head, '_a child'_. He didn't understand how Harry could ever become anything close to his equal when he was such a _child._

Did Harry expect that he was actually a fair and just man? Oh, perhaps that was it. "Are you afraid that I'll do the same thing to you?"

Harry's muffled no was a pathetic whimper.

"Do not lie. Child, I would know. You are very easy to read."

There was sniffling.

"But... I-I I killed–"

The Dark Lord laughed.

"You? Hardly. Although the thought is quite enticing, I can't see you killing people that easily, pet. If it makes you happy, it was not your fault. In fact, you should worry more about yourself. If you do not cease this childish behavior, I will be forced to punish you. And your punishments so far were very light," the Dark Lord smiled when the sniffling stopped.

"...not fair..."

The Dark Lord wondered why he put up with it. The shivering ball in his bed was quite adorable though. Harry accused in his mind, Voldemort was a heartless and sadistic psychopath. _He would never understand._

It's been said that mental faculties of sick people were lowered when they're sick. Voldemort wondered if he should keep the child in such a state. Delicate and fragile.

"Foolish child, if you are not happy with these arrangements, I could have you sent to the dungeons, and we'll see how you like it there."

Harry curled tighter to himself.

"I know this seems hardly fair for you, but you are a prisoner. You are alive on my whim alone. If you weren't my horcrux, I would have you killed without a second thought," Voldemort said.

Harry controlled himself and brought down the covers. It was funny. It almost seemed like Voldemort was comforting him.

The man was probably manipulating him again. Harry felt an alien thought worm its way in his brain, a slight admittance that it felt nice that someone was still concerned of his well-being. That maybe his Tom wasn't entirely bad. His hate was momentarily forgotten.

The Dark Lord heard it when the child mumbled, "Thank you, Master."

The Dark Lord was certainly amused. "You have no reason to thank me, and I'm bothered by why you're hardly fighting me…" Voldemort said, "Now I find myself curious. I planned to wait until you were fully recovered... I'll know you're lying when you still thank me after this," Voldemort traced the child's face and watched how the pupils dilated in fear. "Legilemency…" The Dark Lord forced his presence inside the poor unprotected mind.

Harry didn't understand what happened but when he started seeing memories of his childhood, and how he grew up… he thought it was worse than rape. _He had no right._

The utter violation of his privacy was swept under the pain it caused when Harry tried to block his memories from the Dark Lord. With no knowledge of how occlumency works, Harry's memories were inspected one by one.

It was one of the longest moments of his life.

When it was done the Dark Lord smiled at him.

Harry was panting and drained.

_So cruel._ Voldemort kissed his temple and his lax lips. "Rest. It's still quite early, and I'm sure all this excitement has left you tired. We will talk later this afternoon. I have a surprise for you and I'm sure you will appreciate it," and he was gone.

.

He was alone again.

Harry was reminded of how much he lost. It was little compared to what others would have lost but still, back then, he had something. He had his abusive relatives, his friends, Hogwarts. A stupid life but it was still something he considered _his._ Now.

Now there was just nothing. He reminded himself that he was _Harry Potter_… that he was not going to be a mere possession of the Dark Lord. He did not sit well with the idea that someone held his life and dictated everything he had to do.

He was more upset that Voldemort didn't bother to ask him. Who knows, he might have allowed the man inside his mind. He _saw_ everything.

Harry didn't know how long time passed, when finally managed to stop staring at the ceiling and forced himself to close his eyes.

"Thomas?" Harry asked, and he felt a familiar presence settle.

_**I'm here.**_

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> The runes aren't made up. They're based on The Woman's Book of Runes by Susan Gray. It features Elder Futhark runes. It certainly is an interesting read. I wont include whole passages but mere translations of it.

Kenaz = Torch

Isa = Ice

Elhaz = Elk

Sowilo = Sun Goddess

Berkano = Birch

Mannaz = Human

Laguz = Water

Othala = Fish

Thanks again for reading and thanks for the reviews, alerts and favorites. It inspires me a lot._**  
><strong>_


	9. Chapter 8

From now on, I will use this format.

**Anything written on paper will be centered like this. Style may differ depending on the type of text.**

_**This is also used for telepathic conversations.**_

"_**P**__**arseltongue**_"

"Normal Speech **emphasis** _emphasis_"

'_Inner thoughts'_

"_Inner speech. Telepathic conversations."_

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><p>Also, I've decided to write recaps of what happened in the past chapters. I think this would be useful in the long run because of something stupid like most readers forgetting what the story is all about if they don't get reminded of it. Why? Well, for the benefit of the readers, and myself. There are absolutely brilliant stories that I have on my story alerts, but because it's been a while since I've read it, I forgot what it's all about; If I have to read 36 plus chapters to understand it, I'd rather not.<p>

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><p><strong>Recap:<strong>

Harry was stuck inside the Diary Horcrux for almost 3 years. While inside the Diary, he came upon Thomas who eventually told him everything including Tom's true identity. The child swore to have his revenge.

Snape almost nailed his own coffin when he was caught freeing a captured Dumbledore. After many conscious betrayals on Snape's part, he should have been executed in the worst imaginable way possible, but the Dark Lord valued the Potion Master's talents too much. Voldemort played on Snape's emotions and bartered Harry's revival for Dumbledore's death. Snape's resolve was firm that he did not want to be part of the Dark Lord's schemes but in the end, Lucius Malfoy made Snape see reason. The Dark Lord kept to his word. He revived the child, and gave Snape until the end of the year to finish his end of the deal.

The problem was that Harry did not come out unscathed of his accidental imprisonment inside the diary. Lily's protection backfired on him, rejecting his soul for its darkness. At the same time, the child was forced to deal with the Dark Lord's temperament and the man's unhealthy obsession over him.

Meanwhile, the Order of the Phoenix was able to secure Neville Longbottom, the _spare_ prophecy boy. Late in the morning, an invitation to visit the Dark Lord's Castle was given to Hermione Granger for there was a growing curiosity among the Dark Lord's most trusted inner circle members about the girl's apparent prowess. She accepted.

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><p>Recaps will be shorter the next chapter. Some of you might not like how Harry is still indecisive, but I hope this chapter will make you understand why. I apologize for any grammar, and spelling errors. I don't know but my beta-readers are going MIA on me. <em>610/11 The next update might take awhile but I'm now done with the rest of the outline so I'm going to start writing tomorrow._

Enough of the author's notes. Enjoy reading this chapter~

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><p><strong>Fatal Magnetism<strong>

**Chapter 8**

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><p>"<em>Where are you, Thomas. Why can't I see you?"<em>

_**I'm afraid that your magical reserves won't allow me to have a physical form.**_

_**I can use what little magic you have, but I would be risking your health.**_

_**We don't want that.**_

Harry pressed a pillow to cover his head. He could feel a burgeoning headache.

_**I am inside of you, if you must know.**_

_**I am comfortable, where I am...**_

_**Although...**_

_**Your mind is certainly a wreck, Harry.**_

_**I am surprised that you are able to keep yourself together when your mind is tattered.**_

_**This will no doubt affect how you act, how you feel, and how you understand things.**_

_**Perhaps, it is time that I have you practice occlumency.**_

_**After all, I can't always protect our secrets from my other self.**_

_**He might realize something is amiss.**_

_**We are very thorough in our work especially when it comes to you...**_

_**You are very special to us, so I insist, you learn.**_

_**I taught you the basics, and you must practice whenever you can.**_

"_But won't he be upset if I start practicing occlumency? Like you, he has access to my mind."_ Harry touched his forehead and traced his scar. He felt a mental chuckle coming from Thomas.

_**That is where you are wrong.**_

_**If you learn occlumency without his permission, he will punish you...**_

_**But I am sure that he will appreciate your interest in this obscure branch of magic.**_

_**The secrets you hold in your mind are precious.**_

_**If he were to grant you freedom, this is a necessary skill.**_

"_Freedom. That's only one of the things I want. Although what I can't understand is... why are you so nice to me? Why are you helping me? There is nothing for you in it._" Harry stretched both of his arms overhead and pushed himself up on the bed, and collapsed back on it, not really knowing what to do if he stood up. "_Voldemort... and you... you both confuse me. Voldemort is cruel, but he can be kind as well. I don't understand him..."_

_**This is one of the reasons why I did not want you to submit to him...**_

_**I told you to fight him... Do not tell me you feel compassion for him?**_

_**I should be able to understand my other self but we are still two separate beings.**_

_**I am sure my other self feels the same attraction that I have for you.**_

_**It is a wordless urge to protect you... a sense of completeness that...**_

_**That I am sure you are already aware of.**_

_**Remember, Harry. Tom is within Voldemort.**_

_**If Tom truly cared for you, then a part of it might have survived upon their merging.**_

_**This is based on my intuition alone.**_

_**If you really must know, you may ask him yourself.**_

Harry frowned, and admonished Thomas, "_You didn't answer my first question. How can I trust you if you don't trust me? Why do you always avoid answering __**that**__ question?_"

_**It is times like this that I wish you act your age.**_

_**Sometimes I wonder how easy it could have been to manipulate you if you remained...**_

_**...a naïve, trusting, self-sacrificing, noble Gryffindor.**_

_**Pfft. To explain to you my reason for helping you would take time.**_

_**I also doubt that your ability to understand my reasons…**_

_**so until you are ready,**_

_**I won't tell.**_

"_Don't treat me like a child. I don't want to be led around in lies again. You told me to stop being so trusting, but now you demand my trust? When your actions are so suspicious and doubtful?_"

Harry wanted to close off the mental conversation but realized that he couldn't block Thomas out. He needed occlumency for that. '_Damn it to hell'_

"_...I still... trust you... something tells me that... I should. But I have to know... Thomas. Please tell me."_

_**Now that is cheating. If I tell you, promise me one thing.**_

_**That you will never betray me to him.**_

"_I promise._"

There was nothing for awhile. Harry sighed.

"_I won't break that promise. I won't tell him. Thomas… Please… Tell me."_

There was a brief feeling of discomfort until the voice in his head decided to give him the answers he wanted.

_**There are many reasons, little one.**_

_**As you already know, I've been with you ever since you were a year-old.**_

_**I've seen everything and I know everything about you...**_

_**During those long years, I realized the error of my ways.**_

_**Now that I have met my other self, I can say that what I've come to be disgusts me.**_

_**I can always take over your body, and find an easier way to bring down this regime...**_

_**but doing so might kill you.**_

_**I do not want to harm you any more than I have. **_

_**It is also sad that my nature is to follow my other self's desires.**_

_**I cannot rebel. I have no freedom.**_

_**I have everything to gain, Harry, if you keep your promise...**_

_**Do not disappoint me.**_

"_This is really too much, for a twelve-old. Thomas... but thank you... and I won't disappoint."_

_**...don't fall for him.**_

Harry was about to reply when the door to his room opened. A servant clad in white bowed before him and touched his shoulder. Harry heard another voice in his head and was surprised. "_Harry Potter,"_ the voice said. The servant stared at him.

Harry felt uncomfortable at the prospect of talking through telepathy. It wasn't normal.

"_Master told us to bring you down to the balcony for a quick breakfast. Master said that you disobeyed him for not resting, as you were told. Come._" The servant pulled him and he stumbled over the bed. He was dragged unceremoniously and since he was still weak from the ritual, _and_ his mother's protection from trying to _eat his soul_, he stumbled here and there, probably humiliating himself. Harry could almost feel the pity directed at him, but that might also be just the work of his imagination.

Several portraits were hung on the wall. Left and right, no matter he looked, something caught his eye. Harry was no expert in critique but he knew what was aesthetically pleasing and what was not. Voldemort seemed to have a secret appreciation for art, and particularly bizarre ones, Harry noted as he stared at the disturbing portrait that they came out of.

After passing through a maze of hallways and doors, they reached a large white door that opened to a magnificent sitting room. There were three couches and a delicate glass table at the middle. A carpet of violet, black and gold settled on the middle. The floor was wooden, dark brown, in small rectangular tiles. Everything sat before the fireplace. The high ceiling had crisscrossing piles of wood. Light came from five globes of light floating in the middle of the room. The Dark Mark was emblazoned on the walls very lightly, but it was there.

At one side of the room, there was a harp, on the other side, shelves, vases and sand where bottles swords and other random trinkets laid. Harry found that small tidbit strange. Beyond the flowing white curtains, a glass door was open and it lead to a small balcony.

Voldemort was sitting on the balcony and the man waved at him. The gentle manner belied the man's true intentions. The Dark Lord gestured that he should take a seat on the white chair opposite him.

Harry looked for the servant who brought him to the room before the balcony, but found no one. He found no excuse to delay the inevitable.

"Do not keep me waiting," Voldemort warned.

Harry began walking towards the open glass doors, and when his feet reached the tiled cold marble floor of the balcony, he shivered. The cold morning air met him, and it was refreshing, but it made him uncomfortable to be wearing such an airy night gown without any jacket or blanket on. Voldemort smiled. As if reading Harry's mind, Voldemort conjured a thick white shawl that wrapped around Harry's shoulders followed by a light warming charm.

Harry sat on the comfy white chair and looked at the glass table. A moment passed. Only the sound of the Dark Lord's fork hitting the plate was heard, the shuffling of cloth, and the setting of glass on the table. It seemed that Voldemort was finished eating, and was waiting for something to happen. "Harry," Voldemort murmured the name as if he was relishing it.

"Look at me." That was a command. A command that resounded through Harry's entire being. He did not want to follow it.

'What choice do I have?' Harry thought. His slightly frightened gaze landed on Voldemort... his _master_.

His head was so clouded hours ago that he briefly... he really thought that this man was his _master._ However, nothing else could be done about it since the die had been cast. And the Dark Lord might know how _earnest_ he was in his role.

The man gave no indication that he knew however.

"Master... I couldn't sleep... I... I'm sorry," Harry averted his eyes, and it landed on his lap once again.

Voldemort leaned on his right knuckle while his left hand tilted Harry's chin so that the gaze was settled back on him, "I told you to look at me."

The green eyes focused on red, and the perfect visage of Voldemort came to haunt Harry of how eerily similar it is to _Tom_. He really did hate this. Having to pretend, and make himself believe that Voldemort deserved his respect – or the title of being his _master_.

Harry hated the idea of being anyone's pet. He was sure as hell, he hated the idea of being treated like one... but he wasn't being treated like one. Harry's idea of a pet was one kept in a tight leash, stored in a cage… among other unsavory things. For the short time that he was out, he was not dehumanized in such a manner. Was the name only given to him to unnerve him? Harry honestly didn't know. This was certainly not what he expected.

He thought that once he was out, he was going to be imprisoned again. He was so confused… and annoyed that he didn't know what to make of his situation. Voldemort continued slowly caressing the face, before slowly retracting his hand. His master seemed satisfied at what he saw and gestured to the food, "Eat."

Harry honestly didn't know what utensils to use because there were so many of them. Finally he decided to pick a fork and spoon, taking delectable portions of food and placing them on his plate.

"If the food is not to your liking, tell me, and I will have the servants prepare you any dish you wish for," Voldemort offered. The man was drinking something red from a wine glass. Harry was briefly reminded of his uncle, who used to do such a thing. He would sometimes get drunk early in the morning and he would take out his frustration on the nearest punching bag, little Harry.

"Don't worry, pet. I will only punish you if you deserve it. Tell me, what do you want to do with your muggle family? I have not touched them. I thought you would appreciate it... but after seeing what they've done to you, I am quite eager to kill them. No one else is allowed to hurt you, and live through it, without my permission," Voldemort finished a glass, and a woman clad in black poured the same red liquid on it.

"Well, Harry?" Voldemort swirled his glass, and Harry was momentarily transfixed at the sloshing _wine_. "I...You may do whatever you want with them, master..." Harry pushed a piece of strawberry shortcake inside his mouth and sipped his hot milk slowly. He licked his lips knowing he might have a small white mustache if he didn't. That was when another servant gave him a napkin, offering to wipe his lips with it.

Voldemort frowned, "Would you like to watch them die?"

Harry trembled at the question. This was his muggle relatives. He should be happy that they would probably tortured to death, but he felt that... he knew that he might not want to watch seeing how he reacted over Anthony's death.

"Very well. You will still see them, however. I will not deny them the knowledge that you are partly responsible for their deaths. My men will fetch them in a fortnight. Will that give you enough time to decide?"

"Yes… Thank you, master."

Harry nodded, distractedly. His relatives were the farthest thing from his mind. Harry's taste-buds were exploding from the sheer loveliness of each individual dish that he was given. He really missed food... and it didn't seem that Voldemort minded his behavior of inhaling the treats before slowly devouring it in tiny little bites.

Voldemort sipped his wine, and chuckled at the sheer bliss his pet's face was showing. He did not expect that Harry would be comfortable enough to show him such an expression, after what he did... for who he was.

"Do you really plan to kill me?" Voldemort asked.

The utensils dropped with a small clang. Harry looked elsewhere and then he looked back at Voldemort who was staring at him.

"I..."

"It would be a waste of time, pet."

Harry bit his lower lip to say something but stopped himself. He seemed to be doing that a lot _lately_. Stopping himself from saying what he really wanted to say… skirting from the issue. Being a coward.

"You are far too weak. Powerless. I trust that whatever it is that you plan to do, you'll think twice before doing it. I will forgive you for your naivety but I will not forgive you if you act upon such irrational urges, _pet._"

Voldemort was about to finish drinking, but the glass exploded in his hand. Harry curled onto himself, and mumbled, "Why can't I? I hate you..."

"You hate me?" Voldemort asked.

"I've told you countless times before. I hate you. I trusted you, but you betrayed me. You left me in the diary and lied to me. Now you seem to be making up this lie about me being sick… it's almost pathetic–"

Incensed, the Dark Lord strode towards Harry, his wand out and muttered, "Crucio."

The boy fell off the chair. He landed on the floor, screaming and writhing. The Dark Lord pulled the child by his hair and dragged him over the balustrades. "I think ten would do it."

Harry's widened and saw how high he was from the ground. A fall from such a height would kill him. There was an assembly of death eaters below that looked positively gleeful at the sight of their master.

They gathered together and pointed at him. Before long, it drew in a small crowd.

Harry whimpered when the shawl was torn from him, together with his night gown. The warming charm was removed and the Dark Lord ordered, "Keep your hands flat on the balcony. Keep your knees together. Stand up straight but keep your head down. Good. If you scream, you'll be whipped again. If you move, we will start over. Now, I want you to count, Harry. "

Harry nodded, groaning through the in his muscles. The cruciatus hurt and the brief few seconds seemed to last like hours.

Voldemort pulled Harry's hair back, and whispered on his ear, "What was that, pet? I didn't hear you."

"Yes, master."

Voldemort grinned. With a flick of his hand, the Dark Lord conjured a switch. The Dark Lord tested the design and seemed pleased with it. The dark wood bended properly and it made a swooshing sound when Voldemort tested it in the air.

The first blow landed on Harry's back. It hurt in a way that burned, momentarily making Harry see white. Harry trembled, but kept the instinctive scream inside his throat.

A whimper came out and the Dark lord rubbed a finger on the mark.

"Again, I didn't hear you."

Harry heard the switch cut into the air, and it landed on his exposed buttocks and the back of his knees. "One." His hands dug on the flat of the balcony and he tried not to think of the watching Death Eaters. The white hot flare took out his breath. It was humiliating even though he knew they would never know it was him. The fact that the Dark Lord was publicly whipping him hurt, and embarrassed him.

The next stroke whistled through the air and marked his back once more. Three red marks were now scattered. "Two." Harry gritted his teeth together and forced himself not to scream... "Three."

He almost collapsed then, but steadied himself, knowing that Voldemort would not give him reprieve if he did. The fourth stroke came in quick succession with the fifth, sixth and seventh.

Harry's voice cracked when he had to repeat "Eight."

"Louder."

At this point, tears were leaking out of his eyes. What was it about pain that always made him cry?

"Eight."

The whip came, angry and fast, and Harry trembled right after it landed.

"N-Nine."

The back was littered with red marks. When the last one came, Harry bit his lower lip, stifling a cry. "Ten," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper. The last one broke skin, Harry knew.

"Good boy."

Harry collapsed on the floor, his breath heaving. He pulled the shawl to him and tried to cover himself and the rest of his dignity. The Dark Lord crouched next to him, trapping him between the balustrade and the floor.

A hand caressed his face, and wiped his tears. Soon, lips touched his and they were soft, warm, and he wasn't allowed to fight it. The shawl was taken away from him together with his night gown. The servants bowed in silent understanding.

"It's over… Harry," the Dark Lord said as he took Harry's hand and led him back into the warm confines of the castle, away from prying eyes. The breakfast was forgotten.

Harry leaned against Voldemort for support and they retired to the sitting room which was the room before the balcony. The Dark Lord led him towards the couch and sat on it, pulling the child down. Harry obeyed without question. He was emotionally, mentally and physically spent to attempt to argue anyway.

The Dark Lord laid him on his lap, and applied a soothing balm on his naked skin. The red marks began to fade, but it was still slightly painful. A servant offered them a change of clothing. Harry wordlessly stood up and let the Dark Lord dress him. It was a simple dark green silk robe.

Harry shivered and tried not to look at anything, closing his eyes but knowing better to call out for Thomas while in the presence of the Dark Lord. He was surprised when he was pulled down again, so that this time, he was straddling Voldemort, his head pressed against the Dark Lord's collarbone, and the Dark Lord's face buried in his hair.

"Have I not done enough? I could torture you until your mind breaks. I can treat you like I would treat my other prisoners. I can starve you and humiliate you until you cease to think of yourself as human, but I don't. I've been really… considerate for you… and for this, you are a liability..."

Harry gave up in thinking that he could push himself away from the man without risking his wrath. He did the next best thing and took in the warmth and security of being so close to _Tom_.

"This is for your own good."

Voldemort traced his finger on the boy's neck, downwards, pressing against the skin, making Harry wince.

"Your body is not strong enough for the bonding rituals I have in mind... For now, I need to mark you so that my followers know that you are under my protection. Will you accept my mark?

Harry mumbled a soft, "Yes, master." He had no choice.

"_**Mosmorde**_**.**"

Harry winced, as the mark settled on his right arm. The mark would normally sting, but nothing too painful for Harry.

The Dark lord tilted his chin and kissed him once more. It was soft and chaste.

"I really should avoid touching your pretty flesh like this. I decided to refrain from sexual advances until the coming winter solstice... but I am regretting that decision," Voldemort let go of Harry. Harry clambered off to settle away from his master.

The boy took one of the pillows and embraced it, trying to steady his heartbeat and erase the blush that decorated his face. Voldemort allowed such an action and let the silence continue for a while.

When Harry was about to drift off, he began, "Pet, what will you be willing to give me for Freedom?"

Harry perked up, "What kind of freedom?"

Voldemort trapped Harry with his gaze, "I will let you out of the castle. I will allow you to study in Hogwarts and be with your _friends_. You will have your wand back and you will learn all that I have to offer. I offer you this kind of freedom."

Harry's eyes narrowed, as he peered from the small crevice of his pillow.

"And... what do I need to offer you in exchange?"

The Dark Lord grinned, "Your body. Your soul. Your mind. Your loyalty to me and devotion to my cause. I will train you to be my knight. It will be the perfect punishment."

Harry considered it.

"Accept it. You have no other choice. Or... you may remain as my pet. I will keep you away from the war. I will keep you sheltered from all the monstrosities of the world. I will be everything that you need and… you will have no one else."

Harry absolutely didn't want to serve the man any more than he had to. He brought down the pillow and tilted his head, "What if I want neither? Why can't you just let me go?"

Voldemort's magic crackled. "You know why, brat. Your existence is tied to mine. If you must insist, I will grant you death. Then, I will place Thomas in another container. That is the only way you will be freed of me, if you die."

Harry frowned, "...but you won't let me kill myself…"

Voldemort was exasperated, "How dare you suggest that? Honestly, you still are, a child. Come here."

Harry crawled over to Voldemort's side again, and he was surprised when a hand caressed the side of his face. Voldemort's gaze was intent as he said, "Do you really want to die?"

'_Do I want to die? Do I hate Voldemort enough that if I had no other choice but to live with him, I'd rather choose death?..._' and Harry, reminded himself of Thomas.

_**Do not disappoint me**_

He said...

And that was how Lucius entered the room to intrude on their privacy. If the man was disturbed, his face did not show it... although the sneaking glances on the boy made it evident that Lucius was curious. Voldemort gave the child one last caress. He offered Harry his lap as a pillow, something he knew Harry greatly enjoyed, before giving his full attention to Lucius.

Lucius coughed, and said, "My Lord, the messenger from France finally arrived. He brings good news. Also, it would please you to know that Hermione Granger accepted the invitation. Harry would be pleased too, I think."

Harry frowned, not liking Lucius's presence or his presumption that Harry would be happy to see Hermione.

"Ah, you spoiled my surprise, Lucius." Voldemort turned to his Harry, "Pet, would you like to come? Or shall I give you time to rest?" Voldemort asked.

It wasn't a tough choice. Harry wanted to know more and he didn't want to stay cooped inside the Dark Lord's bed chambers while waiting.

"_**I'd like to come, master,**_" Harry hissed. Voldemort nearly smiled, and hissed back, "_**D**__**o not scare poor Lucius like that. He seems to have forgotten you and I share this little gift. And... from your answer, should I assume you accept my offer?**_"

Harry frowned, "_**I accept the terms of your freedom... but I really hate calling you master...**_"

Voldemort dug his fingernails on Harry's arm in punishment. "_**For now, you will show me respect and address me properly. I will not tolerate your blatant disregard for this rule so let this be the last, ungrateful brat.**_"

Harry winced and rubbed the sore spot. His body hurt in all different places now.

"Lucius, since the messenger had kept us waiting, perhaps he would not mind if we let him squirm for a little while. Sit down, my friend."

Upon sitting down, Lucius told himself that he honestly could not understand his master. His new-found love for surprises and games made him difficult to predict.

A loud screech was heard, and an equally sharp snap of reprimand echoed from the large halls. Bellatrix pushed opened the door and demanded, "Why is this man still alive?"

Voldemort _gestured_ to the other couches and the woman curtsied. A silent Severus followed with a sneer and took a seat on the couch Lucius was occupying.

Bellatrix took in the room and its occupants. Her gaze finally landed on the small child.

"My Lord... is that? No... it cannot be... You told us that Potter was dead."

Harry tilted his head to look at the beautiful but dangerous looking woman who sat on the other couch. She looked like a queen. Her body was enclosed in a corset dress that emphasized her body's curves. Her thick curly hair cascaded elegantly down her shoulders – wild but refined. The darkness of her eyes seemed to simmer with a sort of insanity that Harry was accustomed to.

A strange sort of understanding fell upon him.

"Bellatrix, there is no need to be surprised. Harry, meet Bellatrix Black, one of my most accomplished duelists. She's the cousin of your godfather, Sirius Black. Bella, you will teach this child how to defend himself."

The pureblood witch nodded, still distracted that the boy who seemed long dead was very much alive. Bellatrix slowly understood what was happening when she took in the boy's position on her master's lap.

Harry smiled, and then said, "I have a godfather? I thought all my other blood relatives are dead."

"Yes pet, you do have a godfather. And to answer your last question, you have several blood relatives who are alive right now. Dumbledore lied to you. You may ask dear Bella about it later, but for now, let us get you acquainted with my other adviser, Lucius. The Malfoy family is one of the most noble and oldest pureblood families. Lucius, you will arrange lessons for proper wizarding etiquette, and instruct Harry on the ways of the empire."

Lucius gave a tight smile, "I'll see what I can do, my Lord."

Harry turned to look at Severus. The man was silent, but his silence spoke volumes. The man's tight pose and unwavering stare at Harry was unnerving.

"Severus is indebted to your family. He will be your protector. If I am not here, Severus will attend to your health. He will also teach you potions," Voldemort paused before continuing, "You see, my friends, if it was not for this boy, I wouldn't be here, and Britain would still be as degenerate as ever. Harry revived me, and in return, I kept him safe from the rest of the world. Now he expressed his wish to return back to the society..."

Severus scoffed, "That child is a waste of time and effort, my Lord."

Voldemort's visage visibly darkened. "I will be the judge of that, Severus. You will all give your best in teaching Harry. I have decided not to impart the knowledge of his revival to our other friends. Only the people in this room and my servants know of that the child is alive."

Harry twisted in his master's hold, but the sudden tight grip on his chest which looked to all was as if he was lightly caressing Harry was in truth, pressing the child down.

"_Behave, yourself_," the harsh voice in Harry's mind grated.

Harry cringed.

"_You planned this all along,_" Harry screamed back. Harry felt his body throb in pain when the Dark Lord's magic pushed against him in punishment.

Harry whimpered and closed his eyes. Voldemort acted concerned and brushed Harry's forehead. "Harry, you don't seem to be feeling well."

"_Bastard_."

More magic was pumped on him, and Harry wondered why nobody moved to stop the Dark Lord. '_Fuck you all._' Harry let out a low whine, and whispered, "Master... it hurts..."

Bellatrix seemed to be enjoying the show. The Dark Lord summoned a servant and a black clad servant knelt before them, offering a vial of dark muck. "Drink this."

Harry nodded, and the Dark Lord tilted Harry's head upwards and brought the vial to the child's lips.

The boy shivered again and his muscles spasmed. Severus knew that the child was put under the cruciatus curse. It took a sharp eye to see how the muscles reacted when the boy was forced to move.

A familiar color, a muscle relaxant was then given to the child. Harry coughed and drank water, mumbling words that they could not hear. The Dark Lord smirked, pleased at what the boy said, apparently.

Harry laid his head on the Dark Lord's lap once more. The boy closed his eyes, and turned around, his back to them.

"There were unforeseen side-effects to Harry's health. Lucius, you are aware of what I speak off. The body is rejecting his soul. I have no doubt it is painful."

Bellatrix huffed, "Then if it is troubling you to keep him alive, my Lord, why not let him die?"

Voldemort felt the boy shudder in his arms at the comment.

"Perhaps."

Harry pressed closer. He wondered if the boy even knew what he was doing. Then, Voldemort realized it was an instinctive action.

"But as I have come to understand this child's existence, I found out something peculiar. The child is a parselmouth, like me. He has potential that I do not want to go to waste... and he already agreed to serve me. Look."

Slipping off the loose silk robe over Harry's arms was easy when the child had no energy to defy him. The Dark Lord showed them Harry's right arm. The placement of the marking itself showed that Harry was special. Instead of the left forearm, it was placed on Harry's right arm.

"He deserves a reward for succeeding in a task that none of you were able to fulfill. I have agreed to grant him this."

Bellatrix ate it all up, and saw it fit not to question her master's intentions. Lucius and Severus on the other hand, knew that there was something more was at play. They conversed and the Dark Lord continued to answer their questions at their individual tasks.

Voldemort told them that they did not have to start soon but Lucius may have a go since learning etiquette would not stress the mind and body as much as dueling and potion making would do.

The Dark Lord was pleased that his followers didn't question his motives further and accepted their role in honing his pet. Severus was dismissed, not before the Dark Lord instructed him to brew several potions for Harry. Bellatrix and Lucius was left to discuss matters regarding Britain, the rebels, the state of the underground prison, the dome and other structures that were being built.

Harry seemed to be falling asleep with the lull of the conversation.

"_I knew you would accept. I do not want to waste time. You chose not to stay in your cage so I'll make sure you learn to protect yourself."_

Harry frowned. He really didn't know why Voldemort bothered… he had everything now, an army, Britain. Why should he protect Voldemort? Why should he protect himself? Was… Voldemort only worried about Thomas? So Harry asked, "_Master... whom do you care about, Thomas, or me?"_

Voldemort answered without a pause, "_Both. You are equally important..."_

Harry doubted it but made no further rebuttal.

The morning passed quietly, and soon enough, it was afternoon. The Dark Lord had long dismissed his followers and studied the dozing child on his lap. Harry was truly a distraction. He kissed the unresponsive lips and mentally woke up the child.

Harry stretched on his lap, before blushing a bright shade of red. "I'm... sorry... I fell asleep–"

"Shh. Wear this, and follow me," Voldemort tossed an elegant black cloak with the Dark Mark insignia. "Do not pull the cloak off. There is an inlaid complex glamour charm that would prevent anyone who is not certain of your identity to see you. We must not keep your friend waiting."

Harry scoffed, _'She's not my friend.'_

* * *

><p>At the strike of twelve, Hermione was outside of the Order safe-house. The afternoon sun beat down the gravel pathway and the lifeless surrounding of the abandoned town came to greet her. Hermione's portkey glowed, and that was all the warning she had before it activated. She experienced the smooth sensation of plummeting to the ground. Portkey travel administered by the empire was a lot smoother than normal portkeys. Still, it left her staggering on the floor where she landed. The portkey transported her in a bland looking room. The interior was gray, and the floor was barely swept of dust and other tattered pieces of paper.<p>

A man who appeared in his twenties took her attention by holding out a hand in front of her face. Hermione dusted herself and took the offered hand. She was pulled upright without much effort. Inwardly, Hermione chastised herself for stumbling.

"Welcome to the King's Castle, Hermione Granger. I'm Barty Crouch Jr. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Hermione itched to wipe her hand. She really hated Death Eaters for an obvious reason. Barty simply pretended that he did not hold an ounce of animosity to the girl, and gestured to the door.

"Now, I'm sure you want to leave this dreary room. So we shall. I am afraid however, that lunch would be at a later time. Most of us are not present yet, and upon our Lord's order, it is customary to wait for them. Would you like to have a look around the castle while we have nothing to do?"

Hermione gave an eager nod and a smile, "Yes please. You are not as scary as they make you out, uh..."

"You may call me Barty. I don't sit well with the formalities," Barty said and ended with a soft chuckle. His hand opened the door and Hermione was shown the breathtaking view of the gardens.

"Barty then. You may call me Hermione."

If Hermione remembered properly, the garden was inside the castle. It was a large square inner courtyard where the white pillar was located.

The pillar stood in the middle of the garden, gleaming with all the names of the death eaters who died for the cause. Hermione just couldn't understand why so many people have died in order for the regime to come into power.

"I see you are interested with the white memorial. This year, we are expecting the stone will rise again, for it will not fit all the names of those who might die because of the incoming war," Barty said softly. There was a cold glint in his eyes that acknowledged death and nothing in the man's stance betrayed his inner turmoil. Hermione could somehow relate to the man.

"How does it work?" Hermione wanted to know but she had an idea of how it did. Barty suppressed a grin, "They said you were too curious for your own good, but alright. See, once we Death Eaters pledge ourselves to the cause, we also tie ourselves to our Master. He inscribed the names of those who died before the regime and requested that we share a few drops of blood on the small pool surrounding it. Once the magic on our blood loses potency, it means we are already dead. Our names would be inscribed on that stone. Come, visitors are always enamored of this structure."

Hermione knew why everyone was enamored of the white pillar. One, they did not know the Dark Lord was capable of showing compassion for his Death Eaters. Two, even in its simplicity, the pillar was majestic. The number of lives that were lost for the cause was no small number. It goes to show how powerful the Dark Lord was and the extent of his influence.

True enough, there is a small pool of red. When Hermione reached out to touch it, her fingers came out slightly burned.

"Blood is a precious substance. My master would not leave it unprotected," Barty said, then cast a small healing charm on Hermione's fingers. "If your intent was to harm it or take it, you would have been badly cursed."

Hermione flinched at her thoughtlessness.

"Let us go, there are other interesting things that I must show you."

They stepped away from the stone and passed through the small bridge that went over a stream of water where there was plenty of fish. They walked upon the gravel path and Barty commented, "Most of the flowers that you see in this garden are poisonous. Be careful not to let your skin touch it. The Dark Lord only likes them for their fragrance. They give a unique scent don't they? My Lord even cares for the golden chrysanthemums. Most people believe it brings bad-luck but they are very useful for potions."

Hermione looked at the said flowers and almost reached out to touch the shimmering gold petals. "I know these aren't poisonous."

Barty didn't stop her, and Hermione plucked one of the flowers, pocketing it. Barty laughed at her deviousness, "I won't tell." Hermione would have perused the exotic flowers more and she was particularly interested with the large winged butterflies that grew to the size of her hand but Barty said, "This won't be your last visit. You will be acquainted with the garden properly when you come for a second time."

Barty took her shoulder and led her towards the staircase beyond the white memorial stone. The tour continued. Hermione marveled at the sheer size and ingenuity of the entire castle. "Rodolphus told me you were vehement about the use of house elves. Would it please you to know that the Dark Lord does not allow them within the castle?"

Hermione scrunched her forehead in thought, "I think that it is impossible for a large castle not to have servants. Surely..."

"Yes, we employ better servants, human slaves," Barty paused. He ignored Hermione's flinch, and showed her a portrait of Morgana le Fey. "This acquisition took time. The Dark Lord spent a fortune in the underground dealings of Russia to acquire her portrait. She resembles someone you must know. Care to guess?"

Hermione's eyes widened, "Bellatrix Black..."

"Yes, and the woman was proud of it... Bloody annoying, that woman... I am sure you would like to see the sixth floor. About this time is good enough."

The second through fifth floor of the castle was full of Death Eaters. Most of them respectfully bowed before Barty while the others greeted him pleasantly and gave Hermione inquisitive looks. Hermione wasn't dressed with anything spectacular. It wasn't shabby either. She was wearing a simple beige dress over a black cloak. Her hair was pinned up elegantly, and she was wearing a pair of black boots. Her hand showed the bracelet and the ring that was given to her upon her acceptance of the Crown.

She had a feeling that the sixth floor wasn't open to most Death Eaters. Large windows decorated the entire floor. The sun cast enough shadows to make an illusion that the stone floor was carved with circles and spirals. There were no curtains and the pleasant breeze lazily passed the corridor. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

The floor reflected the sun's rays in a blinding way, and Hermione had to stop looking at the floor, opting to see if there were portraits around. There weren't any, but the walls were littered with carved serpents.

They entered the central room where there was a grand staircase that led to the upper floor. Opposite the stairs was a large balcony. It was a balcony that descended to the third floor, where... Hermione last saw the Dark Lord speaking in front of his followers.

There were other balconies but the one before her was the largest and grandest. The platform itself was on the third floor, while a large staircase decorated the right and left side of it. On the middle, a large insignia of the Dark Mark hung proudly.

She shuddered to think of what the Dark Lord did during Samhain. It was horrible and distracting so she pushed it far in the depths of her mind. She now thanked her occlumency skills. Hermione continued to follow Barty who was avidly telling her about the other Inner Circle death eaters.

The thought made her pause.

_Inner circle._ She was not expecting that... but she should have.

It was too late to think of potential ramifications because before long, she arrived on the eighth floor and was heading towards the large dining room where several key figures of the Empire sat, patiently waiting for them.

The silence was unbearable. Hermione almost forgot her manners. She curtsied before the gathering and swallowing her nervousness, she spoke, "I am Hermione Granger. I have gladly accepted the invitation and I thank you for the warm welcome, my Lord." Hermione was led to the far seat, the farthest seat away from all of the inner circle death eaters – directly opposite the Dark Lord.

There were sharp disapproving gazes on her. On the other hand, some of her Hogwarts professors sat on the table, expectantly looking at her.

"I trust Barty didn't bore you with the Castle tour?" Voldemort asked. The Dark Lord's voice echoed in the room. Hermione balled her hands into fists and forced a smile on her face. Speaking before the man who was responsible for the deaths of several hundreds of thousands of people frightened Hermione in ways that she didn't actually expect. Here she thought she was prepared but nothing could have prepared her from meeting the man in person.

The smile was still on her face when she answered, "No, my Lord. He was actually very entertaining–"

Bellatrix cut her off, "In what ways?" the woman asked suggestively. It brought a chorus of laughter from the assembled, and Hermione was affronted.

"Now, now, Bellatrix. Let us treat our guest with proper respect. She is here not to serve as our **entertainment** and I hope you all realize that it would reflect badly on us, if we do not treat her like so."

Lucius straightened his shoulders and glanced at the mudblood girl whom he despised. This brought the attention to Lucius as he spoke, "I'd like to apologize on her behalf. You must know that most of us grew up knowing that muggleborns are of lesser descent. It is but a year ago that we have accepted your kind into our fold, but our animosity will always be deep-rooted until it has been proven that muggleborns aren't... inferior. Today, I know you will prove otherwise."

Voldemort gave a sardonic smile on Lucius's scathing apology. It was at that time that Harry coughed again. Several servants were by the child's side, wiping his lips and replacing his plate where flecks of blood were seen.

Chains shackled the cloaked person on the chair. Hermione had to stop herself from coming to the person's aid.

Voldemort traced the person's face and there was an evident whimper, "Ah, my pet is feeling unwell. We must let him rest soon. Bring in the food."

The servants bowed, and several meals were carried inside. Each dish was tasted by another servant before it was brought to the table.

There was a slight scuffle when a newly initiated servant tripped on the floor, and the glass pitchers fell. Bellatrix watched with a sadistic look and before the servant could be helped by others, she said, "Clean it, with your bear hands. Nobody will help this fool."

Bellatrix stepped on the shard that landed near her foot and cracked it into tiny pieces.

The other servants disregarded the now sobbing servant. Another servant carried the pitchers and began asking the death eaters if they wanted wine, water, or any of the assortments of drinks.

When the servant came to stop before Hermione, she was also asked her preference. Hermione was distantly aware that she said plain water would do. She could not take away her eyes from the servant who was picking up the shards and Bellatrix who stood up and started stepping on the servant's hands. The woman had her wand out and issued out her favorite curse, "Crucio." The screams that followed fell on deaf ears.

The death eaters acted like it was a normal occurrence. It was not as if someone was being tortured to insanity while the rest of the Inner Circle began to eat lunch.

The Dark Lord sighed, after the screaming reached ear splitting screeches.

"Bella, silence her. See... my pet is uncomfortable from all the noise."

Hermione's gaze then turned on the small form... '_How didn't I notice that? The Dark Lord's pet is... but a child..._"

The small hands peaked out from the cloak, and it was pressed against the child's ears.

Bellatrix clicked her tongue and stopped the curse. "Tsk. My Lord, you are too gentle on him."

"No, Bella, you nutter. Not all screams are pleasant to hear," A long pale faced man who sported a scowl retorted to Bellatrix.

Bellatrix shook her finger and said, "No one asked for your opinion, Dolohov."

Antonin Dolohov, Hermione recognized the face from her research of the Dark Lord's highest ranking death eaters. He was imprisoned in Azkaban after Igor Karkaroff testified against him. The man was famous for torturing muggles and those that went against the current empire's ideals, not sparing man, woman, or child.

"Settle down. Why must you always squabble like children?" Lucius asked.

Bellatrix pouted and said, "You almost sound like Severus. Hey, why isn't he here?"

Amycus Carrow sputtered, "Why... you would have him sit here? That _traitor?_"

Lucius glanced at the Dark Lord and Voldemort smiled thinly. The Dark Mark pulsed and each of them quieted.

"We will eat in a civilized manner. Tonight, I will allow you the use of our prisoners. Will this keep you satisfied?"

There was a chorus of, "Yes, my Lord."

The dining hall was emblazoned with the Dark Mark. Intricate craftsmanship supported the thinly woven threads that tied a large chandelier that floated high above in a dark abyss. Oak panels carved with serpents and runes surrounded the lower half of the wall. The floor was emerald green marble. At the center of the room was a circle, inside it was a square. Inside the square was a pentagram and inside the pentagram was a tinier circle of an eye.

There were no windows. There were only brightly blazing candles that gave of more light than they should have.

When the room was quiet, it gave off an eerie haunting feel. Hermione did not know if she preferred the screaming over the pregnant silence.

"So, Hermione Granger, I will cut down to the chase. I feel that you might not appreciate it. There is something that always bothered me and my followers. Time and time again, we have offered you a place in the empire, but you refused. Why is that?"

The echo of a lock snapping in place was heard. The pet's hands were now bound behind the chair. Voldemort took his time feeding the unruly child.

"Well?" Voldemort asked.

The Death Eaters ate silently, and it was obvious that everyone was awaiting her answer.

"I... I think I am not yet ready, my Lord."

"Nonsense, you pathetic mudblood. Just tell us the truth. You're one of the rebels aren't you?" Bellatrix hissed the last accusation. Voldemort was silent.

"No, I'm not a rebel," Hermione firmly believed that she was not a rebel. '_I belong to the revolutionary army. There's a big difference._'

Hermione could feel the Dark Lord gloss at her surface thoughts. "I truly don't want the responsibility that it might entail to me. Having the crown is responsibility enough."

Lucius frowned, "So does that mean that you value your performance in Hogwarts more than your duty to serve the empire?"

Hermione shook her head, "You got it all wrong. You see, I am a _mudblood_ as you call it. I take pride in the knowledge that I was able to get this far without help from any of the pureblood families. That is the reason why I do not want to get adopted or have a wizarding guardian for me. Also, my education takes precedence over duty, simply because if I am to serve unprepared, I will be useless."

Rabastan smirked, "Sister, she has a point."

"I will not accept it. Can't you see this is disrespect? How many have we killed for refusing to accept the mark? Why must we spare her?" Bellatrix asked, her utensils banging on the porcelain plate.

Rabastan brought down his silver fork and stabbed it on the meat savagely, "Think of it like this, dear sister, if we were to offer the dark mark to six year olds and they refuse and we kill them, we'd have a hefty number of dead six-year-olds in the graveyard."

Bellatrix drank her wine and turned to Rabastan, her face twisting into one of innocence, "But Rabastan... she is hardly a six-year-old. I say we should slip her veritaserum, or we interrogate her. Maybe she's hiding something. I know she's hiding something." Bellatrix glared at the girl.

"Why must you assume I am hiding something? Have I done anything wrong? It is not like I said I will never accept the Dark Mark. I am simply not prepared of what it would entail. For example, it is a known fact that Draco Malfoy has already accepted the mark and thus, many students fear his authority and power."

Bellatrix huffed, "As it should be."

"Fear is not always as effective. He has less influence than Cedric Diggory. He is unapproachable and therefore lacking as a leader."

Lucius paused drinking, and warned Hermione, "Should I take this as an insult?"

Hermione frowned. It was the first frown that marred her face, "Hardly. I respect Draco. He had courage to accept the mark knowing what it entailed. I doubt you people would understand how important it is to have friends but being in power will thin the line that bridges the gap between subordinates and _friends_. I am sure that Draco has not told you, but I know he is lonely."

There was polite laughter, and Voldemort himself was entertained. "You say very amusing things, Ms Granger. Very well, like our original arrangement. I will let you off until the end of your seventh year. In return, I expect you to remain a part of the crown assembly. Also, I want to excuse myself from this meal. It seems like my pet couldn't take this much excitement and passed out. I must attend to him."

Bellatrix stood up, together with Lucius and some other death eaters.

"I do not want to remain in the presence of this ridiculous swine. My Lord, let me follow you," Bellatrix gushed. Rodolphus rolled his eyes at his wife's antics.

Voldemort stood up and removed the chains on the unconscious boy. "As you wish, Bella. Hermione Granger, after you finish your meal, I'd like you to come to me. There is someone who wishes to talk with you. The servants will lead the way. Please, enjoy your lunch."

Soon enough, the dining room was emptied out. It seemed that a lot of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle still hated mudbloods, and her. She sighed.

"I suggest you eat faster, or the Dark Lord will consider it an insult to his hospitality," Rabastan warned.

"Oi Rabastan, aren't you following Bella or Dolphy?" Alecto asked, pausing in chewing the soft scones.

Rabastan leaned backwards on his chair, tilting it back and forth, before saying, "Nah, I can't always stand those two. Or Bella."

Alecto smirked and gave a knowing glance. Rabastan licked his lips and ordered one of the servants to pour him another glass of wine, "No. Do you have anything stronger than this?"

"We have–"

"Then get me one."

The servant bowed.

"Don't be so down, Hermione. In time, they will warm up to you?" Barty phrased it as if he was not sure of it himself. Hermione laughed, "You think?"

Alecto expelled a huff, "It was quite pathetic, you almost stuttered, and you said inconsequential bullshit about friends and responsibilities but you handled it well. Most people would be quivering in fear, like that rat."

Alecto pointed to a ratty looking man, Peter Pettrigrew. Hermione's mind supplied her, _Scabbers._ The man squeaked, and ate faster.

The four of them remained in the ominous looking dining room, and Hermione groaned in her head.

* * *

><p>Inside the Dark Lord's wing of the castle, back within the sitting room, Harry was given his wand. Before the child was a prisoner, an ugly looking man with two scars on his face. "Go on, Harry. If you don't cast the spell, you'll black out from the pain again. See, the more dark spells you cast, the less effective your mother's protections become."<p>

The Dark Lord leaned next to the child, whispering in his ear, "_**Another option is to denounce Lily's right for being your mother... but I doubt you will allow that. It does pain me that I find no other alternative at this point... and you are too weak for rituals that would allow me to explore the intricacies of the magic that surround you. So don't keep us waiting, dearest. Cast the spell. Imagine him burning. It is easy enough to imagine flames licking his skin, and the man turning into pieces of ash... Burn him.**_"

Harry stood, and trained his wand on the figure. Voldemort let go of the child, and sat on the couch. Harry soon brought his wand down. The child looked back at the Dark Lord, shaking his head. "A small downward flick is all it takes," Voldemort said.

"Will it hurt him?" Harry asked.

Bellatrix guffawed, "Just do it, little Harry. I promise you, it would feel good."

Harry swallowed, and turned around, his wand once again, raised in the air. He briefly visualized the ugly man, burning, and that was when he heard the Dark Lord's voice in his head once more.

"_Remember your anger... envision for awhile... that it is Hermione on the ground. She spouts lies about friendship and loneliness, when she herself did nothing to help you in your time of need. Remember how she failed to recognize you, and how apathetic she was to your suffering. And know that she still calls you one of her best-friends up to this day."_

"Auduro," Harry said, and a sickly yellow light enveloped the man. The moment the curse left his tongue and magic flowed from him to the curse, he was breathless. The feeling was slightly euphoric. It was like a pleasant tingling in his head, his fingers... his whole body seemed to throb with excitement, eyes widening. It made him tremble.

"My Lord, he's a natural! I've never seen such perfect casting on the first try."

Harry knelt to the ground and watched how the ugly man curled to himself and uncurled. "What's happening to him?" Harry asked, bewildered.

Voldemort grinned, "My dearest, he is under the illusion that he is burning alive. It starts out as something entirely warm, but if the curse progresses, he will start wailing. Screaming his throat raw from the pain of it. It is a fairly elementary dark spell that could be countered easily, but seeing as our prisoner doesn't have a wand with him, he won't be able to. If we leave him alone, like this, he will go into shock. Before that happens, let us move on to the next curse. Something... not so easy. _Os Flangere_ will do. Break the bones of his fingers. Make a counterclockwise motion, flick it down then wrench your wand upwards."

Harry bit his lip. A part of him didn't want to cast the spell. It went against all his morals. Another part was sickly fascinated with it.

"_Again, imagine how easy it is for bones to break. Remember how being hit by your muggle uncle dislocated your shoulder? Now, see those fingers on those hands. Don't you think it would be wonderful to see them twist into impossible angles. Popping one by one until they're useless. Aren't you frustrated that these wizards left you to suffer under the hands of your relatives, when they had enough power to protect you – and care for you?"_

The Dark Lord showed him the memory, and Harry growled low in his throat.

Harry's voice was a whisper, and he swiftly attempted to cast the curse, "_Os Flangere._"

The bones on the man's fingers began popping one by one, dislocating and getting crushed, twisting into spirals and they popped out one by one out from the skin of the man. Blood coated the floor, and Harry, realizing what he just did, stared and promptly threw up.

"Bella, don't you think he's well suited to the Dark Arts?"

Bellatrix nodded. "My Lord, I have never seen such talent in a child before. Are you sure this is his first time in casting the spell?"

Voldemort grinned, "Why must I lie, dear Bella?"

Wandlessly, the Dark Lord cleaned the vomit on the floor. "Tergeo," Voldemort waved a hand over Harry's slumped form and carried the shivering child onto the couch. Harry struggled and attempted to wrench his wand away from the Dark Lord.

"Harry, stop."

"But... he's in pain. I have to make it stop..."

Voldemort smirked.

"Then why don't you kill him?" Harry flinched. "Isn't there... can't we... spare him?"

Voldemort dragged the child over his lap and leaned on Harry's shoulder. "You naïve little child, why do you think is that man here? If he was not scheduled to die, he wouldn't be your practice dummy. If you ask us properly, we might spare him the pain and kill him..."

Harry tried to wriggle away, and he gave up, leaning against his master's chest, exhausted. "Master... Please kill him."

Voldemort grinned, "And what will you be willing to offer?"

The body was paling. The continued loss of blood and the burning curse continued to ravage the body.

Harry stuttered, "O-offer... I have... nothing... master... please do something."

"This is your fault, little one. If anything, you must be the one to end his life. It is quite easy... You may take one of my swords in this room and stab his heart with it. There a number of ways that you could do by yourself," Voldemort murmured.

Bellatrix seemed bored and ordered a tray of sweets to be delivered to her.

The seconds ticked.

"I... don't want to... kill him."

Voldemort hummed and teased Harry's neck. He twisted the child around so that he was facing him. Harry, unprepared for it, braced both of his hands on the Dark Lord's shoulders. Voldemort was quite distracted, taking in the wide dilated eyes of his pet, and the quivering lips.

"Perhaps a kiss would suffice. Harry, kiss me."

Bellatrix looked at the Dark Lord, and the terrified child, cooing in delight. Harry leaned over the Dark Lord and brought their lips together. A soft brush... but the touch set off a chain of emotions that Harry would have loved to stay hidden.

Fear. Hate. Desire. Happiness. _Lust_. Anger. Confusion.

Completeness.

But those things weren't meant to be felt by the child so Harry pushed himself away, cheeks red. "…I kissed you."

Voldemort smirked, "That wasn't a kiss, pet." The Dark Lord swiftly took control of the situation. His hand pressed against the back of the boy's head, while the other pressed the child's back closer to him. He pushed in a tongue, biting the child's lower lip in punishment when it refused to open.

His other hand began to wander to Harry's hips, pressing it down, so that Harry was back to sitting on his lap, instead of kneeling in between his legs.

This was a reward. Harry made him so proud it was ridiculous. His tongue mapped the upper walls of the boy's mouth, and when Harry tried to push his tongue away, he swiftly brought it down, winning their little game.

Harry's hands fell down to the side, supported only by the Dark Lord's hand on his neck.

"Breathe."

Voldemort whispered, against his lips, tongue and teeth trailing down to nip and lick at the child's jaw, and eventually Harry's neck. Harry made a helpless little sound, a breathless gasp, and a moan when the Dark Lord's wandering hands came to rest on his pert bottom. It came to rest on the child's hips. Harry felt the places where the dark lord's skin met his – tingle. Warmth and need. The feather like touches caressed his hips and trailed down to rest at his knees, opening it wider.

The Dark Lord bit his neck, and Harry winced.

"Master... _**stop... someone's watching.**_"

Voldemort seemed to snap out of his reverie, and gave one last kiss on the pleasant little mark he left on the child's neck. Bellatrix licked her lips and giggled madly at the boy. The Dark Lord smirked, and Harry wanted to disappear, blushing... but more importantly...

As if reading the child's mind, the Dark Lord gestured to Bella, "Do the honors."

"Thank you, my Lord. Now watch carefully Harry, there are a number of ways to kill people, and you know this charm yourself, Diffindo. You cut ropes and chains with it. You can also decapitate heads with it. Let me show you, _Diffindo. _Ah... Almost there. _Diffindo. _Pesky little thing, won't come off. Of course, since it's meant for thin objects, it's hardly as effective as curses designed to do the job. The right curse for this is _Carni Ficare._"

The head finally came off with a wet slosh. More blood than Harry thought was humanly possible came splaying out. There was an uneven cut from where the Diffindo curse damaged a portion of the skin, muscle and bone, and a clean line from where the Carni Ficare curse was cast.

A knock came and the door to the living room opened, in came their guest, Hermione Granger. The fifteen-year-old took one look at the dead body, and at Bellatrix who stood with her wand extended, to the terrified ball of black that was trembling on the Dark Lord's arms.

She steeled herself and said, "Forgive me for taking my time, My Lord. Wait... is that... Harry? Harry... why are you... oh god. Merlin no..."

Harry pulled at his hair before burying his head in the Dark Lord's chest. "_**Why is she here? Make her disappear... I can't stand her...**_"

Hermione blanched. The sound of parseltongue. So she was right. Unless the Dark Lord had an unknown child that remarkably looked like Harry. "Harry."

"Filthy mudblood, don't you dare do something stupid. Little Harry isn't the same Harry as the one you know," Bellatrix laughed, and crooned, "Harry... don't be rude to your friend. She came all this way to see you."

Harry seemed to be stuck in his own little world, exchanging hisses with the Dark Lord. When the hisses stopped, Harry was allowed to break free from the Dark Lord. His bare feet stepped into the puddle of blood and he avoided the bones that scattered together with it. His small arms wrapped around Hermione and Harry murmured softly, too soft for anyone else but Hermione to hear but he knew the Dark Lord heard it, "Hello _Traitor_."

* * *

><p><em>End of chapter 8. I hope you liked it. Thank you to all who have this on their story alerts, favorites and to those who reviewed. You guys make it possible for me to have the urge to update this fast. Some things are still left unanswered, but eventually, they will all clear out. The next few chapters might grow more violent...<em>

_Note that Tergeo is an authentic spell. It's similar to Scourgify. Carni Ficare, Auduro and Os Flangere are made-up spells because there's now specific incantation for them.  
><em>


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